^c^. 


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http://www.archive.org/details/florentinepainteOObere 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  ITALIAN  PAINTERS  OF  THE  RE- 
NAISSANCE, WITH  INDICES  TO 
THEIR    WORKS. 

This  series,  to  be  completed  in  four  uniform  volumes, 
aims  at  presenting  the  significant  facts  of  an  historical 
or  sesthetical  nature  connected  with  the  great  Schools  of 
Italian  Painting  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  shall  be 
brought  immediately  and  vitally  into  contact  with  the 
great  Masters  of  Italy  and  their  works.  At  the  same 
time,  the  Lists  and  Indices  afford  information  as  exact 
and  inventories  as  critical  and  complete,  as  the  science 
of  the  day  will  permit. 

Vol.  I. — The  Venetian  Painters  of  the  Renais- 
sance, WITH  AN  Index  to  their  Works.  Second 
Edition,  1895. 

Vol.  II. — The  Florentine  Painters  of  the  Re- 
naissance. 

In  Preparation  : 
Vol.  III. — The  Central  Italian  Painters  of  the 

Renaissance. 
Vol.  IV. — The  North  Italian  Painters  of  the 

Renaissance. 


THE 

FLORENTINE   PAINTERS 

OF  THE  RENAISSANCE 

WITH   AN  INDEX   TO   THEIR  WORKS 


pv 
BERNHARD  BERENSON 

AUTHOR   OF   "  VFNKTIAN    PAINTERS   OF    THE    RENAISSANCE' 

"LORENZO  LiiTTO  :    AN  KSSAY  IN  CONSTRUCTIVE 

AUr  CRITICISM,"  ETC. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW    YOKK  LONDON 

27   WEST  a  WENTV-THIRU   STREET  24    DKDFORD   STRF-KT,  STRANU 

C^t  Jinichtrbochtr  |)rcss 
1896 


Copyright,  1S96 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall^  London 


Xtbc  Iknichctbocfcec  ipress,  1Rcw  tRocbelle,  tl. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE   FLORENTINE   PAINTERS  OF  THE   RE- 
NAISSANCE          I 

INDEX  TO  THE  WORKS  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL 

FLORENTINE  PAINTERS       ....       95 

INDEX  OF  PLACES I33 


48 


THE    FLORENTINE    PAINTERS   OF 
THE    RENAISSANCE 

I. 

V  Florentine  painting  between  Giotto  and 
Michelangelo  contains  the  names  of  such  artists 
as  Orcagna,  Masaccio,  Fra  l-'ilip})o,  PoUaiuolo, 
Verrocchio,  Leonardo,  and  Botticelli.  Put  be- 
side these  the  greatest  names  in  Venetian  art, 
the  Vivarini,  the  Bellini,  Giorgionc,  Titian,  and 
Tintoret.  The  difference  is  striking.  The  sig- 
nificance of  the  \^enetian  names  is  exhausted 
with  their  significance  as  painters.  Not  so  with 
the  Florentines.  Forget  that  thc\'  \\'ere  j^aint- 
ers,  theyrcmain  great  scuiiyLoTii-uiQiilct  that 
they  were  sculptors^jituJ  still  they  remain  archi- 
tecfsppoets,  and  even  men.  of  science.     They 

left  no  form   c}{  (^yprnc-^irm  iinfnVrl,  and  to  none 

could  they  say,  "  This  will  perfectly  convey  my 


2       MANYSIDEDNESS  OF  THE  PAINTERS 

meaning."  Painting,  therefore,  offers  but  a 
partial  and  not  always  the  most  adequate  mani- 
festation of  their  personality,  and  we  feel  the 
artist  as  greater  than  his  work,  and  the  man  as 
soaring  above  the  artist.  "1 

The  immense  superiority  of  the  artist  even  to 
his  greatest  achievement  in  any  one  art  form, 
means  that  his  personality  was  but  slightly  deter- 
mined by  the  particular  art  in  question,  that  he 
tended  to  mould  it  rather  than  let  it  shape  him. 
It  would  be  absurd,  therefore,  to  treat  the 
Florentine  painter  as  a  mere  link  between  two 
points  in  a  necessary  evolution.  The  history  of 
the  art  of  Florence  never  can  be,  as  that  of 
Venice,  the  study  of  a  placid  development. 
Each  man  of  genius  brought  to  bear  upon  his 
art  a  great  intellect,  which,  never  condescend- 
ing merely  to  please,  was  tirelessly  striving  to 
reincarnate  what  it  comprehended  of  life  in 
forms  that  would  fitly  convey  it  to  others  ;  and 
in  this  endeavour  each  man  of  genius  was  neces- 
sarily compelled  to  create  forms  essentially  his 
own.  But  because  Florentine  painting  was  pre- 
eminently an  art  formed  by  great  personalities, 
it  grappled  with  problems  of  the  highest  inter- 


IMAGINATION  OF  TOUCH  3 

est.  and  offered  solutions  that  can  never  lose 
their  value.  What  they  aimed  at,  and  what 
they  attained,  is  the  subject  of  the  following 
essay. 

II. 

The  first  of  the  great  personalities  in  Flor- 
entine  painting  was  Giotto.  Although  he 
affords  no  pv-rf^pt-jon  to  <"ho  rule  that  tho  great 
Florentines  exploited  all  the  arts  in  the  en- 
deavour to  express  themselves,  he,  Giotto,  re- 
nowned as  architect  and  sculptor,  reputed  as 
wit  and  versifier,  differed  from  most  of  his 
Tuscan  successors  in  having  peculiar  aptitude 
for  the  essentia]^  in.pjainting  as  an  art. 

But  before  we  can  appreciate  his  real  value, 
we  must  come  to  an  agreement  as  to  what  in 
the  art  of  figure-painting — the  craft  has  its  own 
altogether  diverse  laws — is  the  essential  ;  for 
fi;^r'-p-""^'"[Ij  ^^'^  "^■'^y  S'ly  at  once,  was  not 
only  the  one  pre-occupation  of  Giotto,  but 
the  dominant  interest  of  the  entire  Florentine 


school. 

Psychology  has  ascertained  that  sight  alone 
gives  us  no  accurate  sense  of  the  third  dimension. 


4  IMAGINATION  OF  TOUCH 

In  our  infancy,  long  before  we  are  conscious  of 
the  process,  the  sense  of  touch,  helped  on  by 
muscular  sensations  of  movement,  teaches  us 
to  appreciate  depth,  the  third  dimension,  both 
in  objects  and  in  space. 

In  the  same  unconscious  years  we  learn  to 
make  of  touch,  of  the  third  dimension,  the  test 
of  reality.  The  child  is  still  dimly  aware  of  the 
intimate  connection  between  touch  and  the 
third  dimension.  He  cannot  persuade  himself 
of  the  unreality  of  Looking-Glass  Land  until  he 
has  touched  the  back  of  the  mirror.  Later,  we 
entirely  forget  the  connection,  although  it 
remains  true,  that  every  time  our  eyes  recog- 
nise reality,  we  are,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  giving 
tactile  values  to  retinal  impressions. 

Now,  painting  is  an  art  which  aims  at  giving 
an  abiding  impression  of  artistic  reality  with 
only  two  dimensions.  The  painter  must,  there- 
fore, do  consciously  what  we  all  do  uncon- 
sciously,— construct  his  third  dimension.  And 
he  can  accomplish  his  task  only  as  we  accom- 
plish ours,  by  giving  tactile  values  to  retinal 
impressions.  His  first  business,  therefore,  is  to 
rouse  the  tactile    sense,  for  I    must   have  the 


GIOTTO  5 

illusion  of  being  able  to  touch  a  figure,  I  must 
have  the  illusion  of  varying  muscular  sensations 
inside  my  palm  and  fingers  corresponding  to 
the  various  projections  of  this  figure,  before  I 
shall  take  it  for  granted  as  real,  and  let  it  affect 
me  lastingly. 

It  follows  that  the  essential  in  the  art  of 
painting — as  distinguished  from  the  art  of  col- 
ouring, I  beg  the  reader  to  observe — is  somehow 
to  stimulate  our  consciousness  of  tactile  values, 
so  that  the  picture  shall  have  at  least  as  much 
power  as  the  object  represented,  to  appeal  to 
our  tactile  imagination. 

Well,  [t  was__of_th£_J^a^x£I-Jxu-&tiJ3auklt-e  the 
.tactile  consciousness — of  the  essential,  as  I  have 
ventured  to  call  it,  in  the  art  of  painting — that 
Giotto  was  supreme.,ii[i4ster.  This  is  his  ever- 
taim  to  greatness,  and  it  is  this  which 
will  make  him  a  source  of  highest  aesthetic  de- 
light for  a  period  at  least  as  long  as  decii)hcrablc 
traces  of  his  handiwork  remain  on  mouldering 
panel  or  crumbling  wall.  HFor  great  though  lie 
was  as  a  poet,  enthralling  as  a  story-teller,jipjen- 
did  and  majestic  as  a  comijoser,  he  was  in  these 
qualities  superior  in   degree  only^tojmany  of 


O  GIOTTO 

the  masters  who  painted  in  various  parts  of  Eu- 
rope during  the  thousand^jearTthat Jntervened 
between  the  decline  of  antique,  and  the  birth, 
in  his  own  person,  of  modern  painting.  But 
none  of  these  masters  had  the  power  to  stimu- 
late the  tactile  imagination,  and,  consequently, 
they  never  painted  a  figure  which  has  artistic 
existence.  Their  works  have  value,  if  at  all,  as 
highly  elaborate,  very  intelligible  symbols,  capa- 
ble, indeed,  of  communicating  something,  but 
losing  all  higher  value  the  moment  the  message 
is  delivered. 

Giotto's  paintings,  on  the  contrary,  have  not 
only  as  much  power  of  appealing  to  the  tactile 
imagination  as  is  possessed  by  the  objects 
represented — human  figures  in  particular — but 
actually  more,  with  the  necessary  result  that 
to  his  contemporaries  they  conveyed  a  keener 
sense  of  reality,  of  life-likeness  than  the  objects 
themselves  !  We  whose  current  knowledge  of 
anatomy  is  greater,  who  expect  more  articula- 
tion and  suppleness  in  the  human  figure,  who, 
in  short,  see  much  less  naively  now  than 
Giotto's  contemporaries,  no  longer  find  his 
paintings  more  than  life-like ;  but  we  still  feel 


ANAL  YSIS  OF  ENJO  YMENT  OF  PAINTING      7 

them  to  be  intenseh-  real  in  the  sense  that 
they  still  powerfully  appeal  to  our  tactile 
imagination,  thereby  compelling  us,  as  do  all 
things  that  stimulate  our  sense  of  touch  while 
they  present  themselves  to  our  eyes,  to  take 
their  existence  for  granted.  And  it  is  only 
when  we  can  take  for  granted  the  existence  of 
the  object  painted  that  it  can  begin  to  give  us 
pleasure  that  is  genuinelj'  artistic,  as  separated 
from  the  interest  we  feel  in  symbols. 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  to  wander  off  into  the 
boundless  domain  of  aesthetics,  we  must  stop 
at  this  point  for  a  moment  to  make  sure  that  we 
are  of  one  mind  regarding  the  meaning  of  the 
phrase  "  artistic  pleasure,"  in  so  far  at  least  as 
it  is  used  in  connection  with  painting. 

What  is  the  point  at  which  ordinary  pleasures 
pass  over  into  the  specific  pleasures  derived 
from  each  one  of  the  arts?  Our  judgment 
about  the  merits  of  any  given  work  of  art 
depends  to  a  large  extent  upon  our  answer  to 
this  question.  Those  who  have  not  yet  differ- 
entiated the  specific  pleasures  of  the  art  of 
painting  from  the  pleasures  they  derive  from 
the  art  of  literature,  will   be   likely   t(j   fall   into 


8      ANAL  YSIS  OF  ENJO  YMENT  OF  PAIN  TING 

the  error  of  judging  the  picture  by  its  dramatic 
presentation  of  a  situation  or  its  rendering  of 
character  ;  will,  in  short,  demand  of  the  painting 
that  it  shall  be  in  the  first  place  a  good  ilhistra- 
tion.  Those  others  who  seek  in  painting  what 
is  usually  sought  in  music,  the  communication 
of  a  pleasurable  state  of  emotion,  will  prefer 
pictures  which  suggest  pleasant  associations, 
nice  people,  refined  amusements,  agreeable 
landscapes.  In  many  cases  this  lack  of  clearness 
is  of  comparatively  slight  importance,  the  given 
picture  containing  all  these  pleasure-giving 
elements  in  addition  to  the  qualities  peculiar 
to  the  art  of  painting.  But  in  the  case  of  the 
Florentines,  the  distinction  is  of  vital  conse- 
quence, for  they  have  been  the  artists  in  Europe 
who  have  most  resolutely  set  themselves  to 
work  upon  the  specific  problems  of  the  art  of 
figure-painting,  and  have  neglected,  more  than 
any  other  school,  to  call  to  their  aid  the  second- 
ary pleasures  of  association.  With  them  the 
issue  is  clear.  If  we  wish  to  appreciate  their 
merit,  we  are  forced  to  disregard  the  desire  for 
pretty  or  agreeable  types,  dramatically  inter- 
preted   situations,    and,    in    fact,    "  suggestive- 


A  XA  L  }  'SIS  OF  EN  JO  1  'MEN  T  OF  FA  IX  TIXG     9 

ness  "  of  any  kind.  Worse  still,  we  must  even 
forego  our  pleasure  in  colour,  often  a  genuinely 

artistic    pleasure,   fr.t-    tVipy    n.-wt^r    g^gl-f^inat-irally 

pvplnitpri  this  -"Hm^nt,  ?n^  '"  gr>m<^  nf  tl-""?'- V'^g^- 

WOrks  tll^  roloiir  '-^  nr<-11f^l1)^  l-iar^li    nnri   iinplfH'^- 

ant.  It  w^<^  in  fnrf  upon  form,  and  form  alone, 
that  the  great  Florentine  masters  ronrrnfrated 
their  efforts,  and  we  are  consequently-focceiLLo 

the  bf>]i'pf  tliut-,  I'n  thni'r  pirfriirpf  nf  Irngl",  fprn")  ''"^ 
tVip  pri'nripnl    ^nurrt^  of  our  ne-sfhrtir  enjovmcnt. 

Now  in  what  way,  we  ask,  can  form  in  paint- 
ing give  me  a  sensation  of  pleasure  which  differs 
from  the  ordinary  sensations  I  receive  from 
form  ?  How  is  it  that  an  object  whose  recog- 
nition in  nature  may  have  given  me  no  pleasure, 
becomes,  when  recognised  in  a  picture,  a  source 
of  aesthetic  enjoyment,  or  that  recognition 
pleasurable  in  nature  becomes  an  enhanced 
pleasure  the  moment  it  is  transferred  to  art? 
The  answer,  I  believe,  depends  upon  the  fact 
that  art  stimulates  to  an  unwonted  activity 
psychical  processes  which  are  in  themselves  the 
source  of  most  (if  not  all)  of  our  pleasures, 
and  which  here,  free  from  disturbing  physical 
sensations,  never  tend  to  i)ass  over  into  pain. 


I O      ANAL  YSIS  OF  EN  JO  YMEN  T  OF  PAIN  TING 

For  instance:  I  am  in  the  habit  of  realising  a 
given  object  with  an  intensity  that  we  shall 
value  as  2.  If  I  suddenly  realise  this  familiar 
object  with  an  intensity  of  4,  I  receive  the 
immediate  pleasure  which  accompanies  a  doub- 
ling of  my  mental  activity.  But  the  pleasure 
rarely  stops  here.  Those  who  are  capable  of 
receiving  direct  pleasure  from  a  work  of  art, 
are  generally  led  on  to  the  further  pleasures  of 
self-consciousness.  The  fact  that  the  psychical 
process  of  recognition  goes  forward  with  the 
unusual  intensity  of  4  to  2,  overwhelms  them 
with  the  sense  of  having  twice  the  capacity 
they  had  credited  themselves  with  :  their  whole 
personality  is  enhanced,  and,  being  aware  that 
this  enhancement  is  connected  with  the  object 
in  question,  they  for  some  time  after  take  not 
only  an  increased  interest  in  it,  but  continue  to 
realise  it  with  the  new  intensity.  Precisely 
this  is  what  form  does  in  painting:  it  lends 
a  higher  coefificient  of  reality  to  the  object 
represented,  with  the  consequent  enjoyment 
of  accelerated  psychical  processes,  and  the 
exhilarating  sense  of  increased  capacity  in 
the  observer.     (Hence,  by  the  way,  the  greater 


A  XA  L  I  'SIS  OF  EXJO  1  'MEX  T  OF  PA  IX  TIXG      1 1 

pleasure  we  take  in  the  object  painted  than  in 
itself.) 

And  it  happens  thus.  We  remember  that  to 
realise  form  we  must  <jive  tactile  values  to  reti- 
nal sensations.  Ordinarily  we  have  consider- 
able diflficult}-  in  skimming  off  these  tactile 
values,  and  by  the  time  they  have  reached 
our  consciousness,  they  have  lost  much  of  their 
strength.  Obviously,  the  artist  who  gives  us 
these  values  more  rapidly  than  the  object  itself 
gives  them,  gives  us  the  pleasures  consequent 
upon  a  more  vivid  realisation  of  the  object, 
and  the  further  pleasures  that  come  from  the 
sense  of  greater  psychical  capacity. 

Furthermore,  the  stimulation  of  our  tactile 
imagination  awakens  our  consciousness  of  the 
importance  of  the  tactile  sense  in  our  physical 
and  mental  functioning,  and  thus,  again,  by 
making  us  feel  better  provided  for  life  than 
we  were  aware  of  being,  gives  us  a  height- 
ened sense  of  capacity.  And  this  brings  us  back 
once  more  to  the  statement  that  the  chief  busi- 
ness of  the  figure  painter,  as  an  artist,  is  to 
stimulate  the  tactile  imagination. 

The  proportions  of  tliis  small  Ijook  forbid  me 


1 2      ANAL  YSIS  OF  ENJO  YMENT  OF  PAINTING 

to  develop  further  a  theme,  the  adequate  treat- 
ment of  which  would  require  more  than  the 
entire  space  at  my  command.  I  must  be  satis- 
fied with  the  crude  and  unillumined  exposition 
given  already,  allowing  myself  this  further 
word  only,  that  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that 
we  get  no  pleasure  from  a  picture  except  the 
tactile  satisfaction.  On  the  contrary,  we  get 
much  pleasure  from  composition,  more  from 
coloijr,  and  perhaps  more  still  from  movement, 
to  say  nothing  of  all  the  possible  associative 
pleasures  for  which  every  work  of  art  is  the 
occasion.  What  I  do  wish  to  say  is  that  unless 
it  satisfies  our  tactile  imagination,  a  picture 
will  not  exert  the  fascination  of  an  ever-heisht- 
ened  reality ;  first  we  shall  exhaust  its  ideas, 
and  then  its  power  of  appealing  to  our  emo- 
tions, and  its  "  beauty "  will  not  seem  more 
significant  at  the  thousandth  look  than  at  the 
first. 

My  need  of  dwelling  upon  this  subject  at  all, 
I  must  repeat,  arises  from  the  fact  that  although 
this  principle  is  important  indeed  in  other 
schools,  it  is  all-important  in  the  Florentine 
school.     Without  its  due  appreciation  it  would 


GIOTTO  AND    VALUES  OF   TOUCH  1 3 

be  impossible  to  do  justice  to  Florentine  paint- 
ing. We  should  lose  ourselves  in  admiration 
of  its  "  teaching,"  or  perchance  of  its  historical 
importance — as  if  historical  importance  were 
synonymous  with  artistic  significance  !  —  but 
we  should  never  realise  what  artistic  idea 
haunted  the  minds  of  its  great  men,  and  never 
understand  why  at  a  date  so  early  it  became 
academic. 

Let  us  now  turn  back  to  Giotto  and  see  in 
what  way  he  fulfils  the  first  condition  of  paint- 
ing as  an  art,  which  condition,  as  we  agreed,  is 
somehow  to  stimulate  our  tactile  imagination. 
We  shall  understand  this  without  difficulty  if 
we  cover  with  the  same  glance  two  pictures  of 
nearly  the  same  subject  that  hang  side  by  side 
in  the  Florence  Academy,  one  by  "  Cimabue," 
and  the  (^thcr  by  Giotto.  The  difference  is 
striking,  but  it  docs  not  consist  so  much  in  a 
difference  of  pattern  and  types,  as  of  realisa- 
tion. In  the  "  Cimabue  "  we  patiently  decipher 
the  lines  and  colours,  and  we  conclude  at  last 
that  they  were  intended  to  represent  a  woman 
seated,  men  and  angels  standing  by  or  kneeling. 
To    recognise    these    representations    we    have 


14  GIOTTO  AND    VALUES  OF   TOUCH 

had  to  make  many  times  the  effort  that  the 
actual  objects  would  have  required,  and  in  con- 
sequence our  feeling  of  capacity  has  not  only 
not  been  confirmed,  but  actually  put  in  ques- 
tion. With  what  sense  of  relief,  of  rapidly  ris- 
ing vitality,  we  turn  to  the  Giotto  !  Our  eyes 
scarcely  have  had  time  to  light  on  it  before  we 
realise  it  completely — the  throne  occupying 
a  real  space,  the  Virgin  satisfactorily  seated 
upon  it,  the  angels  grouped  in  rows  about  it. 
Our  tactile  imagination  is  put  to  play  imme- 
diately. Our  palms  and  fingers  accompany  our 
eyes  much  more  quickly  than  in  presence  of 
real  objects,  the  sensations  varying  constantly 
with  the  various  projections  represented,  as  of 
face,  torso,  knees;  confirming  in  every  way  our 
feeling  of  capacity  for  coping  with  things, — for 
life,  in  short.  I  care  little  that  the  picture 
endowed  with  the  gift  of  evoking  such  feelings 
has  faults,  that  the  types  represented  do  not 
correspond  to  my  ideal  of  beauty,  that  the 
figures  are  too  massive,  and  almost  unarticu- 
lated ;  I  forgive  them  all,  because  I  have  much 
better  to  do  than  to  dwell  upon  faults. 

But  how  does  Giotto  accomplish  this  mira- 


GIOTTO  AND    VALUES  OF   TOUCH  I  5 

cle  ?  With  the  simplest  means,  with  almost 
rudimentary  light  and  shade,  and  functional 
line,  he  contrives  to  render,  out  of  all  the  possi- 
ble outlines,  out  of  all  the  possible  variations 
of  lisjht  and  shade  that  a  given  figure  may  have, 
only  those  that  we  must  isolate  for  special  atten- 
tion when  we  are  actually  realising  it.  This  de- 
termines his  types,  his  schemes  of  colour,. even 
his  compositions.  He  aims  at  types  which  both 
in  face  and  figure  arc  simple,  large-boned,  and 
massive, — types,  that  is  to  say,  which  in  actual 
life  would  furnish  the  most  powerful  stimulus 
to  the  tactile  imagination.  Obliged  to  get  the 
utmost  out  of  his  rudimentary  light  and  shade, 
he  makes  his  scheme  of  colour  of  the  lightest 
that  his  contrasts  may  be  of  the  strongest.  In 
his  compositions,  he  aims  at  clearness  of  group- 
ing, so  that  each  important  figure  may  have  its 
desired  tactile  value.  Note  in  the"  Madonna" we 
have  been  looking  at,  how  the  shadows  compel 
us  tf)  realise  every  concavity,  and  the  lights 
every  convexity,  and  how,  with  the  play  of  the 
two,  under  the  guidance  of  line,  we  realise  the 
significant  parts  of  each  figure,  whether  draped 
or  undraped.      Nothing  here  but  has  its  archi- 


l6         GIOTTO  AND    VALUES  OF   TOUCH 

tectonic  reason.  Above  all,  every  line  is 
functional ;  that  is  to  say,  charged  with  pur- 
pose. Its  existence,  its  direction,  is  absolutely 
determined  by  the  need  of  rendering  the  tactile 
values.  Follow  any  line  here,  say  in  the  figure 
of  the  angel  kneeling  to  the  left,  and  see  how 
it  outlines  and  models,  how  it  enables  you  to 
realise  the  head,  the  torso,  the  hips,  the  legs, 
the  feet,  and  how  its  direction,  its  tension,  is 
always  determined  by  the  action.  There  is  not 
a  genuine  fragment  of  Giotto  in  existence  but 
has  these  qualities,  and  to  such  a  degree  that 
the  worst  treatment  has  not  been  able  to  spoil 
them.  Witness  the  resurrected  frescoes  in 
Santa  Croce  at  Florence  ! 

The  rendering  of  tactile  values  once  recog- 
nised as  the  most  important  specifically  artistic 
quality  of  Giotto's  work,  and  as  his  personal 
contribution  to  the  art  of  painting,  we  are  all 
the  better  fitted  to  appreciate  his  more  obvious 
though  less  peculiar  merits  —  merits,  I  must 
add,  which  would  seem  far  less  extraordinary 
if  it  were  not  for  the  high  plane  of  reality  on 
which  Giotto  keeps  us.  Now  what  is  back  of 
this  power  of  raising  us  to. a  higher  plane  of 


SY.VBOLISM  OF  GIOTTO  1 7 

reality  but  a  genius  for  grasping  and  communi- 
cating real  significance?  What  is  it  to  render 
the  tactile  values  of  an  object  but  to  communi- 
cate its  material  significance?  A  painter  who, 
after  generations  of  mere  manufacturers  of 
symbols,  illustrations,  and  allegories  had  the 
power  to  render  the  material  significance  of  the 
objects  he  painted,  must,  as  a  man,  have  had  a 
profound  sense  of  the  significant.  No  matter, 
then,  what  his  theme,  Giotto  feels  its  real  signifi- 
cance and  communicates  as  much  of  it  as  the 
general  limitations  of  his  art,  and  of  his  own  skill 
permit.  When  the  theme  is  sacred  story,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  with  what  pro- 
cessional gravity,  with  what  hieratic  dignity, 
with  what  sacramental  intentness  he  endows  it ; 
the  eloquence  of  the  greatest  critics  has  here 
found  a  darling  subject.  But  let  us  look  a  mo- 
ment at  certain  of  his  symbols  in  the  Arena  at 
Padua, at  the  "Inconstancy,"  the  "Injustice"  the 
"Avarice,"  for  instance.  "  What  are  the  signifi- 
cant traits,"  he  seems  to  have  asked  himself, 
"in  the  appearance  and  action  of  a  person  under 
the  exclusive  domination  of  one  of  these  vices? 
Let  me  paint  the  person  with  these  traits,  and 


1 8  SYMBOLISM  OF  GIOTTO 

I  shall  have  a  figure  that  perforce  must  call  up 
the  vice  in  question."  So  he  paints  "  Incon- 
stancy "  as  a  woman  with  a  blank  face,  her 
arms  held  out  aimlessly,  her  torso  falling  back- 
wards, her  feet  on  the  side  of  a  wheel.  It 
makes  one  giddy  to  look  at  her.  "  Injustice," 
is  a  powerfully  built  man  in  the  vigour  of  his 
years  dressed  in  the  costume  of  a  judge,  with 
his  left  hand  clenching  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
and  his  clawed  right  hand  grasping  a  double 
hooked  lance.  His  cruel  eye  is  sternly  on  the 
watch,  and  his  attitude  is  one  of  alert  readiness 
to  spring  in  all  his  giant  force  upon  his  prey. 
He  sits  enthroned  on  a  rock,  overtowering  the 
tall  waving  trees,  and  below  him  his  under- 
lings are  stripping  and  murdering  a  wa5>-- 
farer.  "Avarice"  is  a  horned  hag  with  ears  like 
trumpets.  A  snake  issuing  from  her  mouth 
curls  back  and  bites  her  forehead.  Her  left 
hand  clutches  her  money-bag,  as  she  moves 
forward  stealthily,  her  right  hand  ready  to  shut 
down  on  whatever  it  can  grasp.  No  need  to 
label  them  :  as  long  as  these  vices  exist,  for  so 
long  has  Giotto  extracted  and  presented  their 
visible  significance. 


GIOTTO  19 

Still  another  exemplification  of  his  sense  for 
the  significant  is  furnished  by  his  treatment  of 
action  and  movement.  The  grouping,  the  gest- 
ures never  fail  to  be  just  such  as  will  most  rapid- 
ly convey  the  meaning.  So  with  the  significant 
line,  the  significant  light  and  shade,  the  signifi- 
cant look  up  or  down,  and  the  significant 
gesture,  with  means  technically  of  the  simplest, 
and,  be  it  remembered,  with  no  knowledge  of 
anatomy,  Giotto  conveys  a  complete  sense  of 
motion  such  as  we  get  in  his  Paduan  frescoes 
of  the  "Resurrection  of  the  Blessed,"  of  the 
"Ascension  of  our  Lord,"  of  the  God  the  Father 
in  the  "  Baptism,"  or  the  angel  in  "  Zacharias' 
Dream." 

■*  This,  then,  is  Giotto's  claim  to  everlasting 
appreciation  as  an  artist :  that  his  thorough- 
going sense  for  the  significant  in  the  visible 
world  enabled  him  so  torepresent  things  that 
we  realise  his  representations  more  quickly 
and  more  completely  than  we  should  realise 
the  things  themselves,  thus  giving  us  that  con- 
firmation of  our  sense  of  capacitj^  which  is  so 
greai_a.iiourcu  of  pleasure. 


20  FOLLOWERS  OF  GIOTTO 

III. 

For  a  hundred  years  after  Giotto  there 
appeared  in  Florence  no  painter  equally  en- 
dowed with  dominion  over  the  significant.  His 
immediate  followers  so  little  understood  the 
essence  of  his  power  that  some  thought  it  re- 
sided in  his  massive  types,  others  in  the  swift- 
ness of  his  line,  and  still  others  in  his  light 
colour,  and  it  never  occurred  to  any  of  them 
that  the  massive  form  without  its  material  sig- 
nificance, its  tactile  values,  is  a  shapeless  sack, 
that  the  line  which  is  not  functional  is  mere 
caligraphy,  and  that  light  colour  by  itself  can  at 
the  best  spot  a  surface  prettily.  The  better  of 
them  felt  their  inferiority,  but  knew  no  remedy, 
and  all  worked  busily,  copying  and  distorting 
Giotto,  until  they  and  the  public  were  heartily 
tired.  A  change  at  all  costs  became  necessary, 
and  it  was  very  simple  when  it  came.  "  Why 
grope  about  for  the  significant,  when  the  ob- 
vious is  at  hand  ?  Let  me  paint  the  obvious  ; 
the  obvious  always  pleases,"  said  some  clever 
innovator.  So  he  painted  the  obvious, — pretty 
clothes,  pretty  faces,  and  trivial  action,  with  the 


FOLLOWERS  OF   GIOTTO  21 

results  foreseen :  he  pleased  then,  and  he  pleases 
still.  Crowds  still  flock  to  the  Spanish  chapel 
in  S.  Maria  Novella  to  celebrate  the  triumph  of 
the  obvious,  and  non-significant.  Pretty  faces, 
pretty  colour,  pretty  clothes, and  trivial  action! 
Is  there  a  single  figure  in  the  fresco  representing 
the  "  Triumph  of  St.  Thomas  "  which  incarnates 
the  idea  it  symbolises,  which,  without  its  label- 
ling instrument,  would  convey  any  meaning 
whatever?  One  pretty  woman  holds  a  globe 
and  sword,  and  I  am  required  to  feel  the  majes- 
ty of  empire ;  another  has  painted  over  her 
prett}'  clothes  a  bow  and  arrow,  which  are  sup- 
posed to  rouse  me  to  a  sense  of  the  terrors  of 
war  ;  a  third  has  an  organ  on  what  was  intended 
to  be  her  knee,  and  the  sight  of  this  instrument 
must  suffice  to  put  me  into  the  ecstasies  of 
heavenly  music ;  still  another  pretty  lady  has 
her  arm  akimbo,  and  if  you  want  to  know  what 
edification  she  can  bring,  you  must  read  her 
scroll.  Below  these  pretty  women  sit  a  number 
of  men  looking  as  worthy  as  clothes  and  beards 
can  make  them  ;  one  highly  dignified  old  gen- 
tleman gazes  with  all  his  heart  and  all  his  soul 
at — the  p(jint  of  his  (iuill.     The  same  lack  of 


22  ORCAGNA 

significance,  the  same  obviousness  characterise 
the  fresco  representing  the  "  Church  MiHtant 
and  Triumphant."  What  more  obvious  symbol 
for  the  Church  than  a  church?  what  more  sisf- 
nificant  of  St.  Dominic  than  the  refuted  Paynim 
philosopher  who  (with  a  movement,  by  the  way, 
as  obvious  as  it  is  clever)  tears  out  a  leaf  from 
his  own  book  ?  And  I  have  touched  only  on 
the  value  of  these  frescoes  as  allegories.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  emptiness  of  the  one  and  the 
confusion  of  the  other,  as  compositions,  there  is 
not  a  figure  in  either  which  has  tactile  values, — 
that  is  to  say,  artistic  existence. 

While  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  painting 
between  Giotto  and  Masaccio  existed  in  vain — 
on  the  contrary,  considerable  progress  was  made 
in  the  direction  of  landscape,  perspective,  and 
facial  expression, — it  is  true  that,  excepting  the 
works  of  two  men,  no  masterpieces  of  art  were 
produced.  These  two,  one  coming  in  the 
middle  of  the  period  we  have  been  dwelling 
upon,  and  the  other  just  at  its  close,  were 
Andrea  Orcagna  and  Fra  Angelico. 

Of  Orcagna  it  is  difficult  to  speak,  as  only  a 
single  fairly  intact  painting  of  his  remains,  the 


FRA   ANGELICO  23 

altar-piece  in  S.  Maria  No\;^lla. Here  he  re- 
veals himself  as  a  man  of  considerable  endow- 
ment :  as  in  Giotto,  we  have  tactile  values, 
material  significance ;  the  figures  artistically 
exist.  But  while  this  painting  betrays  no  pe- 
culiar feeling  for  beauty  of  face  and  expression, 
the  frescoes  in  the  same  chapel,  the  one  in 
particular  representing  Paradise,  have  faces  full 
of  charm  and  grace.  I  am  tempted  to  believe 
that  we  have  here  a  happy  improvement  made 
by  the  recent  restorer.  But  what  these  mural 
paintings  must  always  have  had  is  real  artisj^ic 
existence,  great  dignity  of  slow  but  rhythmic 
movement,  and  splendid  grouping.  They  still 
convince  us  of  their  high  .purpose.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  are  disappointed  in  Orcagna's 
sculptured  tabernacle  at  Or  Sammichele,  where 
the  feeling  for  both  material  and  spiritual  sig- 
nificance is  much  lower. 

We  are  happily  far  better  situated  toward 
Fra  Angclico.  enough  of  whose  works  have 
come  down  to  us  to  reveal  not  only  his  quality 
as  an  artist,  but  his  character  as  a  man.  Per- 
fsicL£ertainty  of  purpose,  utter  devotion  to  his 


task,  a  sacramental  earnestness  in  performing 


24  PR  A   ANGELICO 

it,  are  what  the   quantity   and   quality  of  his 
work  together  proclaim.     It  r=;  tnie.  thM  _Gint- 

nr  Jihe-apH44:44;3llj/  t^ignifirant  was__denied  him — 
and  there  is  no  possible  compensation  for  the 
difference ;  but  although  his  sense  for  the  real 
was  weaker,  it  yet  extended  to  fields  which 
Giotto  had  not  touched.  Like  all  the  supreme 
artists,  Giotto  had  no  inclination  to  concern 
himself  with  his  attitude  toward  the  signifi- 
cant, with  his  feelings  about  it ;  the  grasping 
and  presentation  of  it  sufficed  him.  In  the 
weaker  personality,  the  significant,  vaguely  per- 
ceived, is  converted  into  emotion,  is  merely 
felt,  and  not  realised.  Over  \y^\^  ^f\?^v^  ^f  {eA. 
ing  Fra  Angelirn  was  the  first  great_rnaster^ 
**  God  's  in  his  heaven— all  's^  right  with  the 
world "  he  felt  with  an  intensity  which_pre- 
vented  him  from  perceiving  evil  anywhere. 
When' Tie  was  obliged  to  portray  it,  his  imagi- 
nation  failed  him  and  he  became  a  mere  child ; 
his  hells  are  bogy-land  ;  his  martyrdoms  are 
enacted  by  children  solemnly  playing  at  martyr 
and  executioner ;  and  he  nearly  spoils  one  of 
the  most  impressive  scenes  ever  painted — the 


FKA   A  NG  ELI  CO.  25 

great  "Crucifixion"  at  San  Marco — with  the 
childish  violence  of  St.  Jerome's  tears.  But 
upon  the  picturing  of  blitheness,  of  ecstatic  con- 
fidence in  God's  loving  care,  he  lavished  all  the 
resources  of  his  art.  Nor  were  they  small.  To 
a  power  of  rendering  tactile  values,  to  a  sense 
for  the  significant  in  composition,  inferior,  it  is 
true,  to  Giotto's,  but  superior  to  the  qualifica- 
tions of  an}'  intervening  painter,  Fra  Angelico 
added  the_  charm,  of-g-reat  facial  beauty,  the 
interest  of  vivid  expression,  the  attraction  of 
delicate  colcuxr.  What  in  the  whole  world  of  art 
more  rejuvenating  than  Angelico's  "  Corona- 
tion "  (in  the  Ufifizi) — the  happiness  on  nil  tlie 
faces,  the  flower-like  {^race  of  line  and  colour,  the 
rhildlil'p  cii-nplirity'  ypf  nnq^alifiable  bcauty  of 
th'"  r;-r.mpnc;;t?on  ?  And  all  this  in  tactile  values 
which  compel  us  to  grant  the  reality  of  the 
scene,  although  in  a  world  where  real  people 
are  standing,  sitting,  and  kneeling  we  know 
not,  and  care  not,  on  what.  It  is  true,  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  event  represented  is  scarcely 
touched  upon,  but  then  how  well  Angelico  com- 
municates the  feeling  with  which  it  inspircil 
him  I     Yet  simple  though  he  was  as  a  pcrs(jn, 


26  FRA   ANGELICO 

simple  and  one-sided  as  was  his  message,  as  a 
product  he  was  singularly  complex.  He  was 
the  typical  painter  of  the  transition  from 
Medfaei^  to""Renaassance.  The  sources  of  his 
feeling  are  in  the  Middle  Ages,  but  he  enjoys 
his  feelings  in  a  way  which  is  almost  modern ; 
and  almost  modern  also  are  his  means  of  ex- 
pression. We  are  too  apt  to  forget  this  transi- 
tional character  of  his,  and,  ranking  him  with 
the  moderns,  we  count  against  him  every  awk- 
wardness of  action,  and  every  lack  of  articula- 
tion in  his  figures.  Yet  both  in  action  and  in 
articulation  he  made  great  progress  upon  his 
precursors — so  great  that,  but  for  Masaccio,  who 
completely  surpassed  him,  we  should  value  him 
as  an  innovator.  Moreover,  he  was  not  only 
the  first  Italian  to  paint  a  landscape  that  can 
be  identified  (aview  ot  Cake  Thrasymene  from 
Cortona),  but  the  first  to  communicate  a  sense 
of  the  pleasantness  of  nature.  How  readily 
we  feel  the  freshness  and  spring-time  gaiety 
of  his  gardens  in  the  frescoes  of  the  "Annun- 
ciation "  and  the  "  Noli  me  tangere "  at  San 
Marco ! 


MASACCIO  27 

IV. 

Giotto  born  again,  starting  where  death  had 
cut  short  hi&advance,  instantly  making  his  own 
all  that  hard  been  gained  during  his  absence, 
and  profitinjA  by  the  new  conditions,  the  new 
demands — imagine  such  an  avatar,  and  you  will 
understand  r^Masaccip. 

Giotto  we  Know  already,  but  what  were  the 
new  conditions,  the  new  demands?    The  medi- 


aeval skies  had  been  torn  asunder  and  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth  had  appeared,  which 
the  abler  spirits  w^re  aTreadyTnhabiting  and 
enjoying.  Here  new  inteFesTs"arrd  new  values 
prevailed.  The  thing  of  sovereign  price  was 
the  power  to  subdue  and  to  create  ;  of  sov- 
ereign interest  all  that  helped  man  to  know 
the  world  he  was  living  in  and  his  power  over 
it.  TVL-L-f  nr^'"^  ^^•'^  rhnngp  offered  a  field  of_ 
Jhe  freest  activity.  It  is  always  his  business  to 
reveal  to  an  age  its  ideals.  But  what  room  was 
there  for  sculpture  luicT  painting, — arts  whose 
first  purpose  it  is  to  make  us  realise  llie  mate- 
rial significance  of  things- -in  a  ])erii)d  like  the 
Middle  Ages,  when   the  human   body  was  de- 


28  MASACCIO 

nied  all  intrinsic  significance?  In  such  an  age 
the  figure  artist  can  thrive,  as  Giotto  did,  only 
in  spite  of  it,  and  as  an  isolated  phenomenon. 
In  the  Renaissance,  on  the  contrary,  the  figure 
artist  had  a  demand  made  on  him  such  as  had 
not  been  made  since  the  great  Greek^'days,  to 
reveal  to  a  generation  beheving  in  man's  power 
to  subdue  and  to  possess  the  world,  the  physi- 
cal types  best  htted  tor  the  taslc.  And  as  this 
demand.^asjm£erative  and__constant^ot  one, 
but,  g  hundred  Italian  artists  arose,  able  eacji 
in  his  own  way  to  meet  it, — in  their  combined 
achievement,  rivalling  the  art  of  the  Greeks. 

In  sci^t^ture  Donatellp  had  already  given 
body  to  the  new  ideals  when  Masaccio  began 
his  brief  career,  and  in  tli^  education7~tlt&\^ 
awakening,  of  the  younger  artist  the  ^ampfe 
of  the  elder  must  have  been  of  incalculable 
force.  But  a  type  gains  vastly  in  significance 
by  being  presented  in  some  action  along  with 
other  individuals  of  the  same  type ;  and  here 
Donatello  was  apt,  rather  than  to  draw  his 
meed  of  profit,  to  incur  loss  by  descending  to 
the  obvious — witness  his  bas-reliefs  at  Siena, 
Florence,  and  Padua.  Masaccio  was  untouched 


MASACCIO  29 

by  this  taint.  Types,  in  themsciv:£a._aL_the 
manliest,  he  presejits^jfli  n  sense  for  the -ina- 
teriaUy--si^miiamL-:^hiGh-Hiakes---us-j:ealis£.  to 
the  utmost  tkcir  power  and-  dignity ;  and  the 
spiritual  significance  thus  gained  he  uses  to 
give  the  highest  import  to  the  event  he  is  por- 
traying ;  this  import,  in  turn,  gives  a  higher 
value  to  the  types,  and  thus,  whether  we  de- 
vote our  attention  to  his  types  or  to  his  action, 
Masaccio  keeps  us  on  a  high  plane  , of  reality 
and  significance.  In  later  painting  we  shall 
easily  find  greater  science,  greater  craft,  and 
greater  perfection  of  detail,  but  greater  reality, 
greater  significance,  I  venture  to  say,  never. 
Dust-bitten  and  ruined  though  his  Brancacci 
Chapel  frescoes  now  are,  I  never  see  them  with- 
out the  strongest  stimulation  of  my  tactile 
consciousness.  I  feel  that  I  could-tau£li.£X£ry 
figure,  that  it  would  yield  a  d.ejjnite  resistance 
to  jn^'  toudi^that  1  should  Ji.ayeto  expend 
thus  much  effort  to  displace:. Itj  that  I  could 
W'llk  nrniinH  it-  In  short,  I  scarcely  could 
realise  it  more,  and  in  real  life  I  should 
scarcely  realise  it  so  well,  the  attention  of  each 
of  us  being  too  apt  to  concentrate  itself  upon 


30  MASACCIO 

some  dynamic  quality,  before  we  have  at  all 
begun  to  realise  the  full  material  significance  of 
the  person  before  us.  Then  what  strength  to 
his  young  men,  and  what  gravity  and  power  to 
his  old !  How  quickly  a  race  like  this  would 
possess  itself  of  the  earth,  and  brook  no  rivals 
but  the  forces  of  nature  !  Whatever  they  do — 
simply  because  it  is  they — is  impressive  and 
important,  and  every  movement,  every  gesture, 
is  world-changing.  Compared  with  his  figures, 
those  in  the  same  chapel  by  his  precursor, 
Masolino,  are  childish,  and  those  by  his  fol- 
lower, Filippino,  unconvincing  and  without  sig- 
nificance, because  without  tactile  values.  Even 
Michelangelo,  where  he  comes  in  rivalry,  has, 
,  for  both  reality  and  significance,  to  take  a  sec- 
\  ond  place.  Compare  his  "  Expulsion  from 
(f  Paradise  "  (in  the  Sixtine  Chapel)  with  the  one 

*»,'      here  by  Masaccio.    Michelangelo's  figures  are 
t  A--^-v<  ,       more  correct,  but   far   less  tangible    and    less 
/  --tac^-         powerful  ;  and  while  he  represents  nothing  but 
(/  a  man  warding  off  a  blow  dealt  from  a  sword, 

and  a  woman  cringing  with  ignoble  fear,  Ma- 
d  (I  saccio  s  Adam  and  Eve  stride  away  from  Eden 

o^TA^oUoh*^         heart-broken  with    shame   and    grief,  hearing. 


(iVwi  ■ 


MASACCIO  31 

perhaps,  but  not  seeing,  the  angel  hovering 
high  overhead  who  directs  their  exiled  foot- 
steps. 

Masaccio,  then,  like  Giotto  a  century  earlier, 
— himself  the  Giotto  of  an  artistically  more 
propitious  world — was,  as  an  artist,  a  great 
master  of  the  significant,  and,  as  a  painter,  en- 
dowed to  the  highest  degree  with  a  sense  of 
tactile  values,  and  with  a  skill  in  rendering 
them.  In  a  career  of  but  few  years  he  gave  to 
Florentine  painting  the  direction  it  pursued  to 
the  end.  In  many  ways  he  reminds  us  of  the 
young  Bellini.  Who  knows?  Had  he  but 
lived  as  long,  he  might  have  laid  the  founda- 
tion for  a  painting  not  less  delightful  and  far 
more  profound  than  that  of  Venice.  As  it  was, 
his  frescoes  at  once  became,  and  for  as  long  as 
there  were  real  artists  among  them  remained, 
the  training-school  of  Florentine  painters. 

V. 

Masaccio's  death  left  Florentine  painting  in 
the  hands  of  three  men  older,  and  two  somewhat 
younger  than  himself,  all  men  of  great  talent,  if 
not  of  genius,  each  (jf  whom — the  former  lo  the 


32  PAOLO    UCCELLO 

extent  habits  already  formed  would  permit,  the 
latter  overwhelmingly,  felt  his  influence.  The 
older,  who,  but  for  Masaccio,  would  themselves 
have  been  the  sole  determining  personalities  in 
their  art,  were  Fra  Angelico,  Paolo  Uccello,  and 
Andrea  del  Castagno.; -the  yoimger^  Domenico 
Veneziano  and  Fra  Filippo.  As  these  were 
the  nien  who  for  a  whole  generation  after 
Masaccio's  death  remained  at  the  head  of  their 
craft,  forming  the  taste  of  the  public,  and  com- 
municating their  habits  and  aspirations  to  their 
pupils,  we  at  this  point  can  scarcely  do  better 
than  try  to  get  some  notion  of  each  of  them  and 
of  the  general  art  tendencies  they  represented. 
Fra  Angelico  we  know  already  as  the  painter 
who  devoted  his  life  to  picturing  the  departing 
mediaeval  vision  of  a  heaven  upon  earth.  Noth- 
ing could  have  been  farther  from  the  purpose  of 
Uccello  and  Castagno.  Different  as  these  two 
were  from  each  other,  they  have  this  much  in 
common,  that  in  their  works  which  remain  to 
us,  dating,  it  is  true,  from  their  years  of  matur- 
ity, there  is  no  touch  of  mediaeval  sentiment,  no 
note  of  transition.  As  artists  they  belonged  en- 
tirely to  the  new  era,  and  they  stand  at  the  be- 


PAOLO    UCCELLO  33 

ginning  of  the  Renaissance  as  types  of  two 
tendencies  which  were  to  prevail  in  Florence 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  fifteenth  -century, 
partly  supplementing  and  partly  undoing  the 
teaching  of  Masaccio. 

Uccello  had  a  sense  of  tactile  values  and  a 
feeling  for  colour,  but  in  so  far  as  he  used  these 
gifts  at  all,  it  was  to  illustrate  scientific  prob- 
lems. His  real  passion  was  perspective,  and 
painting  was  to  him  a  mere  occasion  for  solving 
some  problem  in  this  science,  and  displaying  his 
mastery  over  its  difficulties.  Accordingly  he 
composed  pictures  in  which  he  contrived  to  get 
as  many  lines  as  possible  leading  the  eye  inward. 
Prostrate  horses,  dead  or  dying  cavaliers, 
broken  lances,  ploughed  fields,  Noah's  arks,  are 
used  by  him  with  scarcely  an  attempt  at  dis- 
guise, to  serve  his  scheme  of  mathematically 
converging  lines.  In  his  zeal  he  forgot  local 
colour — he  loved  to  paint  his  horses  green  or 
pink — forgot  action,  forgot  composition,  and,  it 
need  scarcely  be  added,  significance.  Thus  in 
his  battle-pieces,  instead  of  adequate  action  of 
any  sort,  we  get  the  feeling  of  witnessing  a  show 
of  stuffed  figures  whose  mechanical  movements 


34  PAOLO    UCCELLO 

have  been  suddenly  arrested  by  some  clog  in 
their  wires  ;  in  his  fresco  of  the  "  Deluge,"  he 
has  so  covered  his  space  with  demonstrations 
of  his  cleverness  in  perspective  and  foreshorten- 
ing that,  far  from  bringing  home  to  us  the  ter- 
rors of  a  cataclysm,  he  at  the  utmost  suggests 
the  bursting  of  a  mill-dam ;  and  in  the  neigh- 
bouring fresco  of  the  "  Sacrifice  of  Noah,"  just 
as  some  capitally  constructed  figures  are  about 
to  enable  us  to  realise  the  scene,  all  possibility 
of  artistic  pleasure  is  destroyed  by  our  seeing 
an  object  in  the  air  which,  after  some  dif^culty, 
we  decipher  as  a  human  being  plunging  down- 
ward from  the  clouds.  Instead  of  making  this 
figure,  which,  by  the  way,  is  meant  to  represent 
God  the  Father,  plunge  toward  us,  Uccello  de- 
liberately preferred  to  make  it  dash  inward, 
away  from  us,  thereby  displaying  his  great  skill 
in  both  perspective  and  foreshortening,  but  at 
the  same  time  writing  himself  down  as  the 
founder  of  two  families  of  painters  which  have 
flourished  ever  since,  the  artists  for  dexterity's 
sake — mental  or  manual,  it  scarcely  matters — 
and  the  naturalists.  As  these  two  clans  in- 
creased rapidly  in  Florence,  and,  for  both  good 


ART  FOR  DEXTERITY'S   SAKE  35 

and  evil,  greatly  affected  the  whole  subsequent 
course  of  Florentine  painting,  we  must,  before 
going  farther,  briefly  define  to  ourselves 
dexterity  and  naturalism,  and  their  relation  to 
art. 

The  essential  in  painting,  especially  in  figure- 
painting,  is,  we  agreed,  the  rendering  of  the 
tactile  values  of  the  forms  represented,  because 
by  this  means,  and  this  alone,  can  the  art  make 
us  realise  forms  better  than  we  do  in  life.  The 
great  painter,  then,  is,  above  all,  an  artist  with 
a  great  sense  of  tactile  values  and  great  skill  in 
rendering  them.  Now  this  sense,  though  it 
will  increase  as  the  man  is  revealed  to  himself, 
is  something  which  the  great  painter  possesses 
at  the  start,  so  that  he  is  scarcely,  if  at  all,  aware 
of  possessing  it.  His  conscious  effort  is  given 
to  the  means  of  rendering.  It  is  of  means  of 
rendering,  therefore,  that  he  talks  to  others  ; 
and,  because  his  triumphs  here  are  hard-earned 
and  conscious,  it  is  on  his  skill  in  rendering  that 
he  prides  himself.  The  greater  the  painter,  the 
less  likely  he  is  to  be  aware  of  aught  else  in  his 
art  than  problems  of  rendering — but  all  the 
while   he  is  communicating  what   the   f(^rcc  of 


36  ART  FOR  DEXTERITY'S  SAKE 

his  genius  makes  him  feel  without  his  striving 
for  it,  almost  Avithout  his  being  aware  of  it,  the 
material  and  spiritual  significance  of  forms. 
However — his  intimates  hear  him  talk  of  no- 
thing but  skill ;  he  seems  to  think  of  nothing 
but  skill ;  and  naturally  they,  and  the  entire 
public,  conclude  that  his  skill  is  his  genius,  and 
that  skill  is  art.  This,  alas,  has  at  all  times 
been  the  too  prevalent  notion  of  what  art  is, 
divergence  of  opinion  existing  not  on  the  prin- 
ciple, but  on  the  kind  of  dexterity  to  be  prized, 
each  generation,  each  critic,  having  an  indi- 
vidual standard,  based  always  on  the  several 
peculiar  problems  and  difficulties  that  interest 
them.  At  Florence  these  inverted  notions 
about  art  were  especially  prevalent  because  it 
was  a  school  of  art  with  a  score  of  men  of  genius 
and  a  thousand  mediocrities  all  egging  each 
other  on  to  exhibitions  of  dexterity,  and  in 
their  hot  rivalry  it  was  all  the  great  geniuses 
could  do  to  be  faithful  to  their  sense  of  signifi- 
cance. Even  Masaccio  was  driven  to  exhibit 
his  mere  skill,  the  much  admired  and  by  itself 
wonderfully  realised  figure  of  a  naked  man 
trembling  with  cold   being    not    only  without 


ART  FOR  DEXTERITY'S  SAKE  37 

real  significance,  but  positively  distracting,  in 
the  representation  of  a  baptism.  A  weaker 
man  like  Paolo  Uccello  almost  entirely  sacrificed 
what  sense  of  artistic  significance  he  may  have 
started  with,  in  his  eagerness  to  display  his 
skill  and  knowledge.  As  for  the  rabble,  their 
work  has  now  the  interest  of  prize  exhibitions 
at  local  art  schools,  and  their  number  merely 
helped  to  accelerate  the  momentum  with  which 
Florentine  art  rushed  to  its  end.  But  out  of 
even  mere  dexterity  a  certain  benefit  to  art 
may  come.  Men  without  feeling  for  the  sig- 
nificant may  yet  perfect  a  thousand  matters 
which  make  rendering  easier  and  quicker  for 
the  man  who  comes  with  something  to  render, 
and  when  Botticelli  and  Leonardo  and  Michel- 
angelo appeared,  they  found  their  artistic  patri- 
mony increased  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  since 
Masaccio  there  had  been  no  man  at  all  ap- 
proaching their  genius.  This  increase,  how- 
ever, was  due  not  at  all  so  much  to  the  sons  of 
dexterity,  as  to  the  intellectually  much  nobler, 
but  artistically  even  inferior  race  of  whom  also 
Uccello  was  the  ancestor — the  Naturalists. 
What   is  a   Naturalist  ?     I  venture  upon  the 


38  NATURALISM  IN  ART 

following  definition  : — A  man  with  a  native  gift 
for  science  who  has  taken  to  art.  His  purpose 
is  not  to  extract  the  material  and  spiritual  sig- 
nificance of  objects,  thus  communicating  them 
to  us  more  rapidily  and  intensely  than  we 
should  perceive  them  ourselves,  and  thereby 
giving  us  a  sense  of  heightened  vitality  ;  his 
purpose  is  research,  and  his  communication 
consists  of  nothing  but  facts.  From  this  per- 
haps too  abstract  statement  let  us  take  refuge 
in  an  example  already  touched  upon — the  figure 
of  the  Almighty  in  Uccello's  "  Sacrifice  of 
Noah."  Instead  of  presenting  this  figure  as 
coming  toward  us  in  an  attitude  and  with  an 
expression  that  will  appeal  to  our  sense  of 
solemnity,  as  a  man  whose  chief  interest  was 
artistic  would  have  done — as  Giotto,  in  fact,  did 
in  his  "  Baptism  " — Uccello  seems  to  have  been 
possessed  with  nothing  but  the  scientific  inten- 
tion to  find  out  how  a  man  swooping  down 
head -foremost  would  have  looked  if  at  a  given 
instant  of  his  fall  he  had  been  suddenly  con- 
gealed and  suspended  in  space.  A  figure  like 
this  may  have  a  mathematical  but  certainly  has 
no  psychological  significance.      Uccello,   it  is 


NATURALISM  IN  ART  39 

true,  has  studied  every  detail  of  this  phenom- 
enon and  noted  down  his  observations,  but 
because  his  notes  happen  to  be  in  form  and 
colour,  they  do  not  therefore  constitute  a  work 
of  art.  Wherein  does  his  achievement  differ  in 
quality  from  a  coloured  map  of  a  country  ?  We 
can  easily  conceive  of  a  relief  map  of  Cadore  or 
Giverny  on  so  large  a  scale,  and  so  elaborately 
coloured,  that  it  will  be  an  exact  reproduc- 
tion of  the  physical  aspects  of  those  regions, 
but  never  for  a  moment  should  we  place  it  be- 
side a  landscape  by  Titian  or  Monet,  and  think 
of  it  as  a  work  of  art.  Yet  its  relation  to  the 
Titian  or  Monet  painting  is  exactly  that  of 
Uccello's  achievement  to  Giotto's.  What  the 
scientist  who  paints — the  naturalist,  that  is  to 
say, — attempts  to  do  is  not  to  give  us  what  art 
alone  can  give  us,  the  life-enhancing  qualities 
of  objects,  but  a  reproduction  of  them  as  they 
are.  If  he  succeeded,  he  would  give  us  the  ex- 
act visual  impression  of  the  objects  themselves, 
but  art,  as  we  have  already  agreed,  must  give 
us  not  the  mere  reproductions  iA  things  but  a 
quickened  sense  of  capacity  for  realising  them. 
Artistically,  then,  the  naturalists,  Uccello  and 


40  ANDREA   DEL    CASTAGNO 

his  numerous  successors,  accomplished  nothing. 
Yet  their  efforts  to  reproduce  objects  as  they 
are,  their  studies  in  anatomy  and  perspective, 
made  it  inevitable  that  when  another  great 
genius  did  arise,  he  should  be  a  Leonardo  or  a 
Michelangelo,  and  not  a  Giotto. 

Uccello,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  first  repre- 
sentative of  two  strong  tendencies  in  Florentine 
painting — of  art  for  dexterity's  sake,  and  art 
for  scientific  purposes.  Andrea  del  Castagno, 
while  also  unable  to  resist  the  fascination  of 
mere  science  and  dexterity,  had  too  much 
artistic  genius  to  succumb  to  either.  He  was 
endowed  with  great  sense  for  the  significant, 
although,  it  is  true,  not  enough  to  save  him 
completely  from  the  pitfalls  which  beset  all 
Florentines,  and  even  less  from  one  more 
peculiar  to  himself — the  tendency  to  communi- 
cate at  any  cost  a  feeling  of  power.  To  make 
us  feel  power  as  Masaccio  or  Michelangelo  do 
at  their  best  is  indeed  an  achievement,  but  it 
requires  the  highest  genius  and  theprofoundest 
sense  for  the  significant.  The  moment  this 
sense  is  at  all  lacking,  the  artist  will  not  succeed 
in  conveying  power,  but  such  obvious  manifes- 


ANDREA    DEL    CASTAGNO  4 1 

tations  of  it  as  mere  strength,  or,  worse  still,  the 
insolence  not  infrequently  accompanying  high 
spirits.  Now  Castagno,  who  succeeds  well 
enough  in  one  or  two  such  single  figures  as 
his  Cuma^an  Sibyl  or  his  Farinata  degli 
Uberti,  which  have  great,  if  not  the  greatest, 
power,  dignity,  and  even  beauty,  elsewhere  con- 
descends to  mere  swagger, — as  in  his  Pipo 
Spano  or  Niccolo  di  Tolentino — or  to  mere 
strength,  as  in  his  "  Last  Supper,"  or,  worse 
still,  to  actual  brutality,  as  in  his  Santa  Maria 
Xuova  "  Crucifixion."  Nevertheless,  his  few 
remaining  works  lead  us  to  suspect  in  him  the 
greatest  artist,  and  the  most  influential  per- 
sonality among  the  painters  of  the  first  genera- 
tion after  Masaccio. 

VI. 

To  distinguish  clearl}',  after  the  lapse  of 
nearly  five  centuries,  between  Uccello  and 
Castagno,  and  to  determine  the  precise  share 
each  had  in  the  formation  of  the  Florentine 
school,  is  already  a  task  fraught  with  difficul- 
tics.  The  scantiness  of  his  remaining  works 
make  it  more  than   difficult,  make  it  almost  im- 


42  DOMENICO    VENEZIANO 

possible,  to  come  to  accurate  conclusions  re- 
garding the  character  and  influence  of  their 
somewhat  younger  contemporary,  Dprnenico_ 
Ven£ziaQO-  That  he  was  an  innovator  in 
rechnique,  in  affairs  of  vehicle  and  medium,  we 
know  from  Vasari  ;  but  as  such  innovations,  in- 
/  dispensable  though  they  may  become  to  paint- 
/  ing  as  a  craft,  are  in  themselves  questions  of 
'  theoretic  and  applied  chemistry,  and  not  of  art, 
they  do  not  here  concern  us.  His  artistic 
achievements  seem  to  have  consisted  in  giving 
to  the  figure  movement  and  expression,  and  to 
the  face  individuality.  In  his  existing  works  we 
find  no  trace  of  sacrifice  made  to  dexterity  and 
naturalism,  although  it  is  clear  that  he  must 

-.  have  been  master  of  whatever  science  and  what- 
I 

ever  craft  were  prevalent  in  his  day.  Otherwise 

he  would  not  have  been  able  to  render  a  figure 

like  the  St.   Francis  in  his    Uf^zi  altar-piece, 

where  tactile  values  and  movement  expressive 

of  character — what  we  usually  call  individual 

I       gait — were  perhaps  for  the  first  time  combined  ; 

»  or  to  attain  to  such  triumphs  as  his  St.  John 
V  i  and  St.  Francis^  at  Santa  Croce,  whose  entire 

■<5>-Nfigures  express  as  much  fervour  as  their  elo- 


FKA    FILIPPO  LIPPI  43 

quent  faces.  As  to  his  sense  for  the  significant 
in  the  individual,  in  other  words,  his  power  as 
a  portrait-painter,  we  have  in  the  Pitti  one  or 
two  heads  to  witness,  perhaps,  the  first  great 
achievements  in  this  kind  of  the  Renaissance. 

No  such  difficulties  as  we  have  encountered 
in  the  study  of  Uccello,  Castagno,  and  Venezi- 
ano  meet  us  as  we  turn  to  Fra  Filippo.  His 
works  are  still  copious,  and  many  of  them  are 
admirably  preserved  :  we  therefore  have  every 
facility  for  judging  him  as  an  artist,  yet  nothing 
is  harder  than  to  appreciate  him  at  his  due.  If 
attractiveness,  and  attractiveness  of  the  best 
kind,  sufficed  to  make  a  great  artist,  then 
Filippo  would  be  one  of  the  greatest,  greater 
perhaps  than  any  other  Florentine  before 
Leonardo.  Where  shall  we  find  faces  more 
winsome,  more  appealing,  than  in  certain  of  his 
Madonnas — the  one  in  the  Uffizi,  for  instance — 
more  momentarily  evocative  of  noble  feeling 
than  in  his  Louvre  altar-piece  ?  Where  in 
Florentine  painting  is  there  anything  more  fas- 
cinating than  the  playfulness  of  his  children, 
more  poetic  than  one  or  two  (jf  his  lantlscapes, 
more   charmin<i   than    is    at    times  his  colour? 


44  FRA   FILIPPO  LIPPI 

And  with  all  this,  health,  even  robustness,  and 
almost  unfailing  good-humour  !  Yet  by  them- 
selves all  these  qualities  constitute  only  a  high- 
class  illustrator,  and  such  by  native  endowment 
I  believe  Fra  Filippo  to  have  been.  That  he 
became  more — very  much  more — is  due  rather 
to  Masaccio's  potent  influence  than  to  his  own 
genius  ;  for  he  had  no  profound  sense  of  either 
material  or  spiritual  significance — the  essential 
qualifications  of  the  real  artist.  Working  under 
the  inspiration  of  Masaccio,  he  at  times  renders 
tactile  values  admirably,  as  in  the  Uffizi 
Madonna — but  most  frequently  he  betrays  no 
genuine  feeling  for  them,  failing  in  his  attempt 
to  render  them  by  the  introduction  of  bunchy, 
billowy,  caligraphic  draperies.  These,  acquired 
from  the  late  Giottesque  painter  (probably 
Lorenzo  Monaco)  who  had  been  his  first  master, 
he  seems  to  have  prized  as  artistic  elements  no 
less  than  the  tactile  values  which  he  attempted 
to  adopt  later,  serenely  unconscious,  apparently, 
of  their  incompatibility.  Filippo's  strongest 
impulse  was  not  toward  the  pre-eminently  artis- 
tic one  of  re-creation,  but  rather  toward  expres- 
sion, and  within  that  field,  toward  the  expression 


NATURALISM  IN  FLORENTINE   ART      45 

of  tli£.jiLcasantr  grninl,  spiritually  comfortable 
feelings  of  ordinar>^  life.  His  rcnl  plnre  is  with 
tbe_giV£rt^_painters ;  only  his  genre  was  of  the 
soul,  as  that  of  others— of  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  for 
example — was  of  the  body.  Hence  a  sin  of  his 
own,  scarcely  less  pernicious  than  that  of  the 
naturalists,  and  cloying  to  boot — expression  at 
any  cost. 

VII. 

From  the  brief  account  just  given  of  the  four 
dominant  personalities  in  Florentine  painting 
from  about  1430  to  about  1460,  it  results  that 
the  leanings  of  the  school  during  this  interval 
were  not  artistic  and  artistic  alone,  but  that 
there  were  other  tendencies  as  well,  tendencies 
on  the  one  side,  toward  the  expression  of 
emotion  (scarcely  less  literary  because  in  form 
and  colour  than  if  in  words),  and,  on  the  other, 
toward  the  naturalistic  reproduction  of  objects. 
We  have  also  noted  that  while  the  former  tend- 
ency was  represented  by  Filippo  alone,  the 
latter  had  Paolo  Uccello,  and  all  of  Castagno 
and  Vcneziano  that  the  genius  of  these  two 
men  would  permit  them  to  sacrifice  U)  natural- 


46      NATURALISM  IN  FLORENTINE  ART 

ism  and  science.  To  the  extent,  however,  that 
they  took  sides  and  were  conscious  of  a  dis- 
tinct purpose,  these  also  sided  with  Uccello 
and  not  with  FiHppo.  It  may  be  agreed, 
therefore,  that  the  main  current  of  Florentine 
painting  for  a  generation  after  Masaccio  was 
naturahstic,  and  that  consequently  the  impact 
given  to  the  younger  painters  who  during  this 
period  were  starting,  was  mainly  toward  natural- 
ism. Later,  in  studying  Botticelli,  we  shall  see 
how  difficult  it  was  for  any  one  young  at 
the  time  to  escape  this  tide,  even  if  by  tem- 
perament farthest  removed  from  scientific 
interests.  " 

Meanwhile  we  must  continue  our  study  of 
the  naturalists,  but  now  of  the  second  genera- 
tion. Their  number  and  importance  from  1460 
to  1490  is  not  alone  due  to  the  fact  that  art 
education  toward  the  beginning  of  this  epoch 
was  mainly  naturalistic,  but  also  to  the  real 
needs  of  a  rapidly  advancing  craft,  and  even 
more  to  the  character  of  the  Florentine  mind, 
the  dominant  turn  of  which  was  to  science  and 
not  to  art.  But  as  there  were  then  no  profes- 
sions scientific  in  the  stricter  sense  of  the  word. 


ALESSIO  BALDOVINETTI.  47 

and  as  art  of  some  form  was  the  pursuit  of 
a  considerable  proportion  of  the  male  inhab- 
itants of  Florence,  it  happened  inevitably  that 
many  a  lad  with  the  natural  capacities  of  a 
Galileo  was  in  early  boyhood  apprenticed  as  an 
artist.  And  as  he  never  acquired  ordinary 
methods  of  scientific  expression,  and  never  had 
time  for  occupations  not  bread-winning,  he  was 
obliged  his  life  long  to  make  of  his  art  both 
the  subject  of  his  strong  instinctive  interest  in 
science,  and  the  vehicle  of  conveying  his 
knowledge  to  others. 

This  was  literally  the   case  with  the  oldest 

among    the    leaders    of    the    new   generation, 

^    Alessio  Baldovinetti,  in  whose  scanty  remain- 

\    ing  works  no  trace  of  purely  artistic  feeling  or 

\    interest  can  be  discerned  ;  and  it  is  only  less 

,'    true  of  Alessio's   somewhat   younger,  but   far 

' ^     more  gifted  contemporaries,  Aritonio  Pollaiuolo 

and  Andrea  Verrocchio.     These  also  we  should 


h 


scarcely  suspect  of  beinfr  more  than  men  of 
science,  if  Pollaiuolo  once  or  twice,  and  Ver- 
rocchio more  frequently,  did  not  dazzle  us  with 

\V^rks  nf  .-ilmn^t-  ^nprf^y^^r  nrt,  which,  but  for  OUT 

readiness  to  believe  in  the  manifold  possibilities 


48  POLLAIUOLO   AND    VERROCCHIO 

of  Florentine  genius,  we  sliDiild--witli-£xceeding 
difficulty  accept  as  their  creation-^-.SQ  little  do 
they  seem  to  result  from  their  conscious  striv- 
ing. Alessio's  attention  being  largely  devoted 
to  problems  of  vehicle — to  the  side  of  painting 
which  is  scarcely  superior  to  cookery — he  had 
time  for  little  else,  although  that  spare  time  he 
gave  to  the  study  of  landscape,  in  the  render- 
ing of  which  he  was  among  the  innovators. 
Andrea  and  Antonio  set  themselves  the  much 
worthier  task  of  increasing  on  every  side  the 
effectiveness  of  the  figure  arts,  of  which,  sculpt- 
ure no  less  than  painting,  they  aimed  to  be 
masters. 

To  confine  ourselves,  however,  as  closely  as 
we  may  to  painting,  and  leaving  aside  for  the 
present  the  question  of  colour,  which,  as  I  have 
already  said,  is,  in  Florentine  art,  of  entirely 
subordinate  importance,  there  were  three  direc- 
tions in  which  painting  as  Pollaiuolo  and  Ver- 
rocchio  found  it  had  greatly  to  advance  before 
it  could  attain  its  maximum  of  effectiveness : 
landscape,  movement,  and  the  nude.  Giotto 
had  attempted  none  of  these.  The  nude,  of 
course,  he  scarcely  touched  ;  movement  he  sug- 


POI.LAIUOLO  AXD    VERROCCHIO  49 

gested  admirably,  but  never  rendered  ;  and  in 
landscape  he  was  satisfied  with  indications 
hardly  more  than  symbolical,  although  quite 
adequate  to  his  purpose,  which  was  to  confine 
himself  to  the  human  figure.  In  all  directions 
Masaccio  made  immense  progress,  guided  by 
his  never  failing  sense  for  material  significance, 
which,  as  it  led  him  to  render  the  tactile  values 
of  each  figure  separately,  compelled  him  also 
to  render  the  tactile  values  of  groups  as  wholes, 
and  of  their  landscape  surroundings — by  pre- 
ference, hills  so  shaped  as  readily  to  stimulate 
the  tactile  imagination.  For  what  he  accom- 
plished in  the  nude  and  in  movement,  we  have 
his  "Expulsion"  and  his  ''Man  Trembling 
with  Cold  "  to  witness.  But  in  his  works  neither 
landscape  nor  movement,  nor  the  nude,  are  as 
yet  distinct  sources  of  artistic  pleasure — that  is 
to  say,  in  themselves  life-enhancing.  Although 
we  can  well  leave  the  nude  until  we  come  to 
^lichclangelo,  who  was  the  first  to  completely 
realise  its  distinctly  artistic  possibilities,  we  can- 
not so  well  dispense  with  an  enciuiry  into  the 
sources  of  our  .-esthetic  pleasure  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  movement  and  of  landscape,  as  it 
4 


50       REPRESENTATION  OF  MOVEMENT 

was  in  these  two  directions — in  movement  by 
Pollaiuolo  especially,  and  in  landscape  by  Baldo- 
vinetti,  Pollaiuolo,  and  Verrocchio — that  the 
great  advances  of  this  generation  of  Florentine 
painters  were  made. 

VIII. 

Turning  our  attention  first  to  movement — 
which,  by  the  way,  is  not  the  same  as  motion, 
mere  change  of  place — we  find  that  we  realise 
it  just  as  we  realise  objects,  by  the  stimulation 
of  our  tactile  imagination,  only  that  here  touch 
retires  to  a  second  place  before  the  muscular 
:  feelings  of  varying  pressure  and  strain.  I  see 
(to  take  an  example)  two  men  wrestling,  but 
unless  my  retinal  impressions  are  immediately 
translated  into  images  of  strain  and  pressure 
in  my  muscles,  of  resistance  to  my  weight,  of 
touch  all  over  my  body,  it  means  nothing  to 
me  in  terms  of  vivid  experience — not  more, 
perhaps,  than  if  I  heard  some  one  say  "  Two 
men  are  wrestling."  Although  a  wrestHng 
match  may,  in  fact,  contain  many  genuinely 
artistic  elements,  our  enjoyment  of  it  can  never 
be  quite  artistic  ;  we  are  prevented  from  com- 


KEPKESEiVTATIOiV  OF  MOVEMENT        5  I 

pletely  realising  it  not  only  by  our  dramatic 
interest  in  the  game,  but  also,  granting  the 
possibility  of  being  devoid  of  dramatic  interest, 
by  the  succession  of  movements  being  too 
rapid  for  us  to  realise  each  completely,  and  too 
fatiguing,  even  if  realisable.  Now  if  a  way 
could  be  found  of  conveying  to  us  the  realisa- 
tion of  movement  without  the  confusion  and 
the  fatigue  of  the  actuality,  we  should  be 
getting  out  of  the  wrestlers  more  than  they 
themselves  can  give  us — the  heightening  of 
vitality  which  comes  to  us  whenever  we  keenly 
realise  life,  such  as  the  actuality  itself  would 
give  us,  phis  the  greater  effectiveness  of  the 
heightening  brought  about  by  the  clearer,  in- 
tenser,  and  less  fatiguing  realisation.  This  is 
precisely  what  the  artist  who  succeeds  in  repre- 
senting movement  achieves  :  making  us  realise 
it  as  we  never  can  actual!)-,  he  gives  us  a 
heightened  sense  of  capacity,  and  whatever  is 
in  the  actuality  enjoyable,  he  allows  us  to 
enjoy  at  our  leisure.  In  words  already  familiar 
to  us,  he  extracts  the  significance  of  inoi'CJiients, 
just  as,  in  rendering  tactile  values,  the  artist 
extracts  the  corporeal  significance  of  objects. 


52        REPRESENTATION  OF  MOVEMENT 

His  task  is,  however,  far  more  difficult,  although 
less  indispensable  : — it  is  not  enough  that  he 
should  extract  the  values  of  what  at  any  given 
moment  is  an  actuality,  as  is  an  object,  but 
what  at  no  moment  really  is— namely  move- 
ment. He  can  accomplish  his  task  in  only  one 
way,  and  that  is  by  so  rendering  the  one  par- 
ticular movement  that  we  shall  be  able  to  realise 
all  other  movements  that  the  same  figure  may 
make.  "  He  is  grappling  with  his  enemy  now," 
I  say  of  my  wrestler.  ''  What  a  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  realise  in  my  own  muscles,  on  my  own 
chest,  with  my  own  arms  and  legs,  the  life  that 
is  in  him  as  he  is  making  his  supreme  effort  ! 
What  a  pleasure,  as  I  look  away  from  the  repre- 
sentation, to  realise  in  the  same  manner,  how 
after  the  contest  his  muscles  will  relax,  and 
rest  trickle  like  a  refreshing  stream  through 
his  nerves  !  "  All  this  I  shall  be  made  to  enjoy 
by  the  artist  who,  in  representing  any  one 
movement,  can  give  me  the  logical  sequence 
of  visible  strain  and  pressure  in  the  parts  and 
muscles. 

It  is  just  here  that  the  scientific  spirit  of  the 
Florentine  naturalists  was  of  immense  service 


J^EPKESEXTATIOX  OF  MOVEMENT        53 

to  art.  This  logic  of  sequence  is  to  be  attained 
only  by  great,  although  not  necessarily  more 
than  empiric,  knowledge  of  anatomy,  such  per- 
haps as  the  artist  pure  would  never  be  inclined 
to  \vork  out  for  himself,  but  just  such  as  would 
be  of  absorbing  interest  to  those  scientists  by 
temperament  and  artists  by  profession  whom 
we  have  in  Pollaiuolo  and,  to  a  less  extent,  in 
Verrocchio.  Wc  remember  how  Giotto  con- 
trived to  render  tactile  values.  Of  all  the  pos- 
sible outlines,  of  all  the  possible  variations  of 
light  and  shade^  that  a  figure—may- have,  he 
selected .  those  that  we  must  isolate  for  special 
attention  wlien  we  are  actually  realising  it.  If 
instead  of  figure,  we  say  figure  in  movement, 
the  same  statement  applies  to  the  way  PoL 
laiuolo  rendered  movement — with  this  differ- 
ence, however,  that  he  had  to  render  what  in 
actuality  we  never  can  perfectly  isolate,  the 
line  and  light  and  shade  most  significant  of  any 
given  action.  This  the  artist  must  construct 
himself  out  of  his  dramatic  feeling  for  pressure 
and  strain  and  his  ability  to  articulate  the  figure 
in  all  its  logical  sequences,  for,  if  he  would  con- 
vey a  sense  of  movement,  he  must  give  the  line 


54  ''BATTLE   OF   THE  NUDES" 

and  the  light  and  shade  which  will  best  render 
not  tactile  values  alone,  but  the  sequences  of 
articulations. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  more  effective 
illustration  of  all  that  has  just  been  said  about 
movement  than  one  or  two  of  Pollaiuolo's  own 
works,  which,  in  contrast  to  most  of  his  achieve- 
ments, where  little  more  than  effort  and  re- 
search are  visible,  are  really  masterpieces  of 
life-communicating  art.  Let  us  look  first  at 
his  engraving  known  as  the  "  Battle  of  the 
Nudes."  What  is  it  that  makes  us  return 
to  this  sheet  with  ever  renewed,  ever  in- 
creased pleasure  ?  Surely  it  is  not  the  hideous 
faces  of  most  of  the  figures  and  their  scarcely 
less  hideous  bodies.  Nor  is  it  the  pattern  as 
decorative  design,  which  is  of  great  beauty  in- 
deed, but  not  at  all  in  proportion  to  the  spell 
exerted  upon  us.  Least  of  all  is  it — for  most 
of  us — an  interest  in  the  technique  or  history 
of  engraving.  No,  the  pleasure  we  take  in 
these  savagely  battling  forms  arises  from  their 
power  to  directly  communicate  life,  to  im- 
mensely heighten  our  sense  of  vitality.  Look 
at  the  combatant  prostrate  on  the  ground  and 


"HERCULES  STRA^XGLLYG  DAVID"         55 

his  assailant  bending  over,  each  intent  on  stab- 
bing the  other.  See  how  the  prostrate  man 
plants  his  foot  on  the  thigh  of  his  enemy,  and 
note  the  tremendous  energy  he  exerts  to  keep 
off  the  foe,  who,  turning  as  upon  a  pivot,  with 
his  grip  on  the  other's  head,  exerts  no  less  force 
to  keep  the  advantage  gained.  The  significance 
of  all  these  muscular  strains  and  pressures  is  so 
rendered  that  we  cannot  help  realising  them  ; 
we  imagine  ourselves  imitating  all  the  move- 
ments, and  exerting  the  force  required  for  them 
— and  all  without  the  least  effort  on  our  side. 
If  all  this  without  moving  a  muscle,  what 
should  we  feel  if  we  too  had  exerted  ourselves! 
And  thus  while  under  the  spell  of  this  illusion 
— this  hypera^sthesia  not  bought  with  drugs, 
and  not  paid  for  with  cheques  drawn  on  our 
vitality — we  feel  as  if  the  elixir  of  life,  not  our 
own  sluggish  blood,  were  coursing  through  our 
veins. 

Let  us  look  now  at  an  even  greater  triumph 
of  movement  than  theNudes,  Pollaiuolo's  "  Her- 
cules Strangling  Antaeus."  As  you  realise  the 
suction  u{  Hercules'  grip  on  tiie  earth,  the 
swelling  of    his  calves  with  the  pressure    that 


$6  VERROCCHIO  AND  LANDSCAPE 

falls  on  them,  the  violent  throwing  back  of  his 
chest,  the  stifling  force  of  his  embrace ;  as  you 
realise  the  supreme  effort  of  Antaeus,  with  one 
hand  crushing  down  upon  the  head  and  the 
other  tearing  at  the  arm  of  Hercules,  you  feel 
as  if  a  fountain  of  energy  had  sprung  up  under 
your  feet  and  were  playing  through  your 
veins.  I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  still 
another  masterpiece,  this  time  not  only  of 
movement,  but  of  tactile  values  and  personal 
beauty  as  well — Pollaiuolo's  ''  David  "  at  Berlin. 
The  young  warrior  has  sped  his  stone,  cut  off 
the  giant's  head,  and  now  he  strides  over  it,  his 
graceful,  slender  figure  still  vibrating  with  the 
rapidity  of  his  triumph,  expectant,  as  if  fearing 
the  ease  of  it.  What  lightness,  what  buoyancy 
we  feel  as  we  realise  the  movement  of  this  won- 
derful youth ! 

IX. 

In  all  that  concerns  movement,  Verrocchio 
was  a  learner  from  Pollaiuolo,  rather  than  an  initi- 
ator, and  he  probably  never  attained  his  master's 
proficiency.  We  have  unfortunately  but  few 
terms  for  comparison,   as  the  only   paintings 


VEKKOCCIIIO  AXD  LANDSCAPE  57 

which  can  be  with  certainty  ascribed  to  Verroc- 
chio  are  not  pictures  of  action.  A  drawing 
however  like  that  of  his  angel,  in  the  British 
Museum,  which  attempts  as  much  movement 
as  the  Hercules  by  Pollaiuolo,  in  the  same  col- 
lection, is  of  obviously  inferior  quality.  Yet  in 
sculpture,  along  with  works  which  are  valuable 
as  harbingers  of  Leonardo  rather  than  for  any 
intrinsic  perfection,  he  created  two  such  mas- 
terpieces of  movement  as  the  "  Child  with  the 
Dolphin  "  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Palazzo  Vec- 
chio,  and  the  Colleoni  monument  at  Venice — 
the  latter  sinning,  if  at  all,  by  an  over-exuber- 
ance of  movement,  by  a  step  and  swing  too 
suggestive  of  drums  and  trumpets.  But  in 
landscape  Verrocchio  was  a  decided  innovator. 
To  understand  what  new  elements  he  intro- 
duced, we  must  at  this  point  carry  out  our 
determination  to  enquire  into  the  source  of  our 
pleasure  in  landscape  painting;  or  rather — to 
avoid  a  subject  of  vast  extent  for  which  this  is 
not  the  place— of  landscape  painting  as  prac- 
tised by  the  Florentines. 

Before  Verrocchio,  his  precursors,  first  Alessio 
Baldovinetti  and  then  rollaiuolo,  h.id  attempted 


58  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 

to  treat  landscape  as  naturalistically  as  painting 
would  permit.  Their  ideal  was  to  note  it  down 
with  absolute  correctness  from  a  given  point  of 
view ;  their  subject  almost  invariably  the  Val- 
darno  ;  their  achievement,  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
this  Tuscan  paradise.  Nor  can  it  be  denied 
that  this  gives  pleasure,  but  the  pleasure  is  only 
such  as  is  conveyed  by  tactile  values.  Instead 
of  having  the  difBculty  we  should  have  in 
nature  to  distinguish  clearly  points  near  the 
horizon's  edge,  we  here  see  them  perfectly  and 
without  an  effort,  and  in  consequence  feel  great 
confirmation  of  capacity  for  life.  Now  if  land- 
scape were,  as  most  people  vaguely  believe,  a 
pleasure  coming  through  the  eyes  alone,  then 
the  Pollaiuolesque  treatment  could  be  equalled 
by  none  that  has  followed,  and  surpassed  only 
by  Rogier  van  der  Weyden,  or  by  the  quaint 
German  "  Master  of  the  Lyversberg  Passion," 
who  makes  us  see  objects  miles  away  with  as 
great  a  precision  and  with  as  much  intensity  of 
local  colour  as  if  we  were  standing  off  from  them 
a  few  feet.  Were  landscape  really  this,  then 
nothing  more  inartistic  than  gradation  of  tint, 
atmosphere,  diXid  plein  air,  all  of  which  help  to 


VERROCCHIO'S  LANDSCAPES  59 

make  distant  objects  less  clear,  and  therefore 
tend  in  no  way  to  heighten  our  sense  of 
capacity.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  pleas- 
ure wo  take  in  actual  landscape  is  only  to  a 
limited  extent  an  affair  of  the  eye,  and  to  a 
great  extent  one  of  unusually  intense  well- 
being.  The  painter's  problem,  therefore,  is  not 
morel)'  to  render  the  tactile  values  of  the  visi- 
ble objects,  but  to  convey,  more  rapidly  and 
unfailingly  than  nature  would  do,  tJic  conscious- 
ness of  an  unusually  intense  degree  of  well- 
being.  This  task — the  communication  by 
means  purely  visual  of  feelings  occasioned 
chiefly  by  sensations  non-visual — is  of  such 
difficulty  that,  until  recently,  successes  in  the 
rendering  of  what  is  peculiar  to  landscape  as  an 
art,  and  to  landscape  alone,  were  accidental 
and  sporadic.  Only  now^,  in  our  own  days,  may 
painting  bo  said  to  bo  grappling  with  this  prob- 
lem seriously  ;  and  perhaps  we  are  already  at 
the  dawn  of  an  art  which  will  have  to  what 
has  hitherto  been  called  landscape,  the  rela- 
tion of  our  music  to  the  music  of  the  Greeks  or 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Vcrrocchio  was,  among  Florentines  at  least, 


6o  VERROCCHIO'S  LANDSCAPES 

the  first  to  feel  that  a  faithful  reproduction  of 
the  contours  is  not  landscape,  that  the  painting 
of  nature  is  an  art  distinct  from  the  painting  of 
the  figure.  He  scarcely  knew  where  the  differ- 
ence lay,  but  felt  that  light  and  atmosphere  play 
an  entirely  different  part  in  each,  and  that  in 
landscape  these  have  at  least  as  much  import- 
ance as  tactile  values.  A  vision  of  plein  air, 
vague  I  must  grant,  seems  to  have  hovered  be- 
fore him,  and,  feeling  his  powerlessness  to  cope 
with  it  in  full  effects  of  light  such  as  he  at- 
tempted in  his  earlier  pictures,  he  deliberately 
chose  the  twilight  hour,  when,  in  Tuscany,  on 
fine  days,  the  trees  stand  out  almost  black 
against  a  sky  of  light  opalescent  grey.  To  ren- 
der this  subduing,  soothing  effect  of  the  cool- 
ness and  the  dew  after  the  glare  and  dust  of  the 
day — the  effect  so  matchlessly  given  in  Gray's 
"  Elegy  " — seemed  to  be  his  first  desire  as  a  pain- 
ter, and  in  presence  of  his  "  Annunciation  "  (in 
the  Uffizi),  we  feel  that  he  succeeded  as  only  one 
other  Tuscan  succeeded  after  him,  that  other 
being  his  own  pupil  Leonardo. 


GENRE   ARTISTS.  6 1 

X. 

It  is  a  temptation  to  hasten  on  from  Pollaiu- 
olo  and  \'errocchio  to  Botticelli  and  Leonardo, 
to  men  of  genius  as  artists  reappearing  again 
after  two  generations,  men  who  accomplished 
with  scarcely  an  effort  what  their  precursors  had 
been  toiling  after.  But  from  these  it  would  be 
even  more  difificult  than  at  present  to  turn  back 
to  painters  of  scarcely  any  rank  among  the 
world's  great  artists,  and  of  scarcely  any  im- 
portance as  links  in  a  chain  of  evolution,  but 
not  to  be  passed  by,  partl\'  because  of  certain 
qualities  they  do  possess,  and  partly  because 
their  names  would  be  missed  in  an  account, 
even  so  brief  as  this,  of  Florentine  painting. 
The  men  I  chiefly  refer  to,  one  most  active  to- 
ward the  middle  and  the  other  toward  the  end 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  are  Benozzo  Gozzoli 
and  Domenico  Ghirlandaio.  Although  they 
have  been  rarely  coupled  together,  they  have 
much  in  common.  Both  were,  as  artists,  little 
more  than  mediocrities  with  almost  no  genuine 
feeling  for  what  makes  painting  a  great  art. 
The  real  attractiveness  of  both  lies  cntirel>- out- 


62  BENOZZO   GOZZOLI 

side  the  sphere  of  pure  art,  in  the  realms  of 
genre  illustration.  And  here  the  likeness 
between  them  ends ;  within  their  common 
ground  they  differed  widely. 

Benozzo  was  gifted  with  a  rare  facility  not 
only  of  execution  but  of  invention,  with  a 
spontaneity,  a  freshness,  a  liveliness  in  telling  a 
story  that  wake  the  child  in  us,  and  the  lover  of 
the  fairy  tale.  Later  in  life,  his  more  precious 
gifts  deserted  him,  but  who  wants  to  resist  the 
fascination  of  his  early  works,  painted,  as  they 
seem,  by  a  Fra  Angelico  who  had  forgotten 
heaven  and  become  enamoured  of  the  earth  and 
the  spring-time?  In  his  Riccardi  Palace  fres- 
coes, he  has  sunk  already  to  portraying  the 
Florentine  apprentice's  dream  of  a  holiday  in 
the  country  on  St.  John's  Day  ;  but  what  a  7iatf 
ideal  of  luxury  and  splendour  it  is  !  With  these, 
the  glamour  in  which  he  saw  the  world  began  to 
fade  away  from  him,  and  in  his  Pisan  frescoes 
we  have,  it  is  true,  many  a  quaint  bit  of  genre 
(superior  to  Teniers  only  because  of  superior 
associations),  but  never  again  the  fairy  tale. 
And  as  the  better  recedes,  it  is  replaced  by  the 
worse,  by  the  bane  of  all  genre  painting,  non- 


GHIRLANDAIO  63 

significant  detail,  and  positive  bad  taste.  Have 
London  or  New  York  or  Berlin  worse  to  show 
us  than  the  jumble  of  buildings  in  his  ideal  of 
a  great  city,  his  picture  of  Babylon  ?  It  may 
be  said  he  here  continues  mediaeval  tradition, 
which  is  quite  true,  but  this  very  fact  indicates 
his  real  place,  which,  in  spite  of  his  adopting  so 
many  of  the  fifteenth-century  improvements,  is 
not  with  the  artists  of  the  Renaissance,  but  with 
the  stor>'-tellers  and  costumed  fairy-tale  paint- 
ers of  the  transition,  with  Spinello  Aretino  and 
Gentile  da  Fabriano,  for  instance.  And  yet, 
once  in  a  while,  he  renders  a  head  with  such 
character,  or  a  movement  with  such  ease  that 
we  wonder  whether  he  had  not  in  him,  after 
all,  the  making  of  a  real  artist. 

Ghirlandaio  was  born  to  far  more  science  and 
cunning  in  painting  than  was  current  in  Be- 
nozzo's  early  years,  and  all  that  industry,  all 
that  love  of  his  occupation,  all  that  talent  even, 
can  do  for  a  man,  they  did  for  him  ;  but  unfor- 
tunately he  had  not  a  spark  of  genius.  He 
appreciated  Masaccio's  tactile  values,  Pol- 
laiuolo's  movement, Vcrrocchio's  effects  of  light, 
and   succeeded    in   so  sugaring  down   what  he 


64  GHIRLANDAIO 

adopted  from  these  great  masters  that  the  su- 
perior phihstine  of  Florence  could  say  :  "  There 
now  is  a  man  who  knows  as  much  as  any  of 
the  great  men,  but  can  give  me  something  that 
I  can  really  enjoy  ! "  Bright  colour,  pretty 
faces,  good  likenesses,  and  the  obvious  every- 
where— attractive  and  delightful,  it  must  be 
granted,  but,  except  in  certain  single  figures, 
never  significant.  Let  us  glance  a  moment  at 
his  famous  frescoes  in  Santa  Maria  Novella. 
To  begin  with,  they  are  so  undecorative  that,  in 
spite  of  the  tone  and  surface  imparted  to  them 
by  four  centuries,  they  still  suggest  so  many 
tableaux  vivants  pushed  into  the  wall  side  by 
side,  and  in  tiers.  Then  the  compositions  are 
as  overfilled  as  the  sheets  of  an  illustrated  news- 
paper— witness  the  "  Massacre  of  the  Inno- 
cents," a  scene  of  such  magnificent  artistic 
possibilities.  Finally,  irrelevant  episodes  and 
irrelevant  groups  of  portraits  do  what  they  can 
to  distract  our  attention  from  all  higher  signifi- 
cance. Look  at  the  "  Birth  of  John  "  ;  Ginervra 
dei  Benci  stands  there,  in  the  very  foreground, 
staring  out  at  you  as  stiff  as  if  she  had  a  photo- 
grapher's   iron    behind    her    head.      An    even 


LEONARDO  65 

larger  group  of  Florentine  housewives  in  all 
their  finer}-  disfigures  the  "  Birth  of  the  Virgin," 
which  is  further  spoiled  by  a  has  relief  to  show 
off  the  painter's  acquaintance  with  the  antique, 
and  by  the  figure  of  the  serving  maid  who 
pours  out  water,  with  the  rush  of  a  whirlwind 
in  her  skirts — this  to  show  off  skill  in  the  ren- 
dering of  movement.  Yet  elsewhere,  as  in  his 
"  Epiphany"  in  the  Uffizi,  Ghirlandaio  has  un- 
deniable charm,  and  occasionally  in  portraits 
his  talent,  here  at  its  highest,  rises  above  medi- 
ocrity, in  one  instance,  the  fresco  of  Sassetti  in 
Santa  Trinita,  becoming  almost  genius. 

XL 

All  that  Giotto  and  Masaccio  had  attained 
in  the  rerKTermg  <5(  lyctlicA'aiue^  alLthat  Fra 
Angelico  or  Filippo  had  achieved  in  expres- 
sion, all  that  Pollaiuolo  had  accomplished  in 
movement,  or  Verrocchio  in  light  and  shade, 
Leonardo,  without  the  faintest  trace  of  that 
tentativeness,  that  painTulness  of  effort  which 
clfaraclcTiscdhlsim mediate  precursors,  equalled 
or  surpaggQd,  Outside  Wlasquez,  and  perhaps, 
when  at  their  best,  Rembrandt   and   Degas,  we 


66  LEONARDO 

shall  seek  in  vain  for  tactile  values  so  stimulat- 
ing and  so  convincing  as  those  of  his  "  Mona 
Lisa  "  ;  outside  Degas,  we  shall  not  find  such 
supreme  mastery  over  the  art  of  movement  as 
in  the  unfinished  "  Epiphany  "  in  the  Uflfizi  ; 
and  if  Leonardo  has  been  left  far  behind  as  a 
painter  of  light,  no  one  has  succeeded  in  con- 
veying by  means  of  light  and  shade  a  more 
penetrating  feeling  of  mystery  and  awe  than  he 
in  his  "  Virgin  of  the  Rocks."  Add  to  all  this, 
a  feeling  for  beauty  and  significance  that  have 
scarcely  ever  been  approached.  Where  again 
youth  so  poignantly  attractive,  manhood  so  po- 
tently virile,  old  age  so  dignified  and  possessed 
of  the  world's  secrets  !  Who  like  Leonardo 
has  depicted  the  mother's  happiness  in  her 
child  and  the  child's  joy  in  being  alive  ;  who 
like  Leonardo  has  portrayed  the  timidity,  the 
newness  to  experience,  the  delicacy  and  refine- 
ment of  maidenhood  ;  or  the  enchantress  intui- 
tions, the  inexhaustible  fascination  of  the 
woman  in  her  years  of  mastery  ?  Look  at  his 
many  sketches  for  Madonnas,  look  at  Donna 
Laura  Minghetti's  "  Profile  of  a  Maiden,"  or  at 
the  Belle  Jocondc^  and  see  whether  elsewhere 


LEONARDO  67 

you  find  their  equals.  Leonardo  is  the  one  artist 
of  whom  it  may  be  said  with  perfect  literahiess  : 
Nothing  that  he  touched  but  turned  into  a 
thing  of  eternal  beauty.  Whether  it  be  the 
cross-section  of  a  skull,  tlic  structure  of  a  weed, 
or  a  study  of  muscles,  he,  with  his  feeling  for 
line  and  for  light  and  shade,  forever  transmuted 
it  into  life-communicating  values  ;  and  all  with- 
out intention,  for  most  of  these  magical  sketches 
were  dashed  off  to  illustrate  purely  scientific 
matter,  which  alone  absorbed  his  mind  at  the 
moment. 

And  just  as  his  art  is  life-communicating  as 
is  that  of  scarcely  another,  so  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  personality  is  life-enhancing  as  that 
of  scarcely  any  other   man.     Think   that  great 

though  he  was  as    a    paiptrr,  ho  vun^    nn  ]<^t;^  rp- 

nowned  as  a  sculptor  and  architect,  musician 
and  improviser^and  that  all  artistic  occupatiops 
whatsoever  were  in    his  career   but    moments 


From   the   pursuit  of   theoretical  and 


practical  knowledge.  It  would  seem^as  if  there 
W(jre  scarcel)-  a  field  of  modern  science  but  he 
cither  f(jresaw  it  in  vision,  or  clearly  anticipated 
it,  scarcel)'   a    realm    of   fruitful   speculation    of 


68  LEONARDO 

which  he  was  not  a  freeman  ;  and  as  if  there 
were  hardly  a  form  of  human  energy  which  he 
did  not  manifest.  And  all  that  he  demanded 
of  life  was  the  chance  to  be  useful  !  Surely, 
such  a  man  brings  us  the  gladdest  of  all  tidings 
— the  wonderful  possibilities  of  the  human 
family,  of  whose  chances  we  all  partake. 

Painting,  then,  was  to  Leonardo  so  little  of 
a  preoccupation  that  we  must  regard  it  as 
merely  a  mode  of  expression  used  at  moments 
by  a  man  of  universal  genius,  who  recurred  to 
it  only  when  he  had  no  more  absorbing  occu- 
pation, and  only  when  it  could  express  what 
nothing  else  could,  the  highest  spiritual  through 
the  highest  material  significance.  And  great 
though  his  mastery  over  his  craft,  his  feeling 
for  significance  was  so  much  greater  that  it 
caused  him  to  linger  long  over  his  pictures, 
labouring  to  render  the  significance  he  felt  but 
which  his  hand  could  not  reproduce,  so  that 
he  rarely  finished  them.  We  thus  have  lost  in 
quantity,  but  have  we  lost  in  quality  ?  Could  a 
mere  painter,  or  even  a  mere  artist,  have  seen 
and  felt  as  Leonardo  ?  We  may  well  doubt. 
We  are  too  apt  to  regard  a  universal  genius  as 


BOTTICELLI  69 

a  number  of  ordinary  brains  somehow  conjoined 
in  one  skull,  and  not  always  on  the  most  neigh- 
bourly terms.  We  forget  that  genius  means 
mental  energy',  and  that  a  Leonardo,  for  the 
self-same  reason  that  prevents  his  being  merely 
a  painter — the  fact  that  it  does  not  exhaust  a 
hundredth  part  of  his  energy — will,  when  he 
does  turn  to  painting,  bring  to  bear  a  power  of 
seeing,  feeling,  and  rendering,  as  utterly  above 
that  of  the  ordinary  painter  as  the  "  IMona 
Lisa  "  is  above,  let  us  say,  Andrea  del  Sarto's 
"  Portrait  of  his  Wife."  No,  let  us  not  join  in 
the  reproaches  made  to  Leonardo  for  having 
painted  so  little  ;  because  he  had  much  more 
to  do  than  to  paint,  he  has  left  all  of  us  heirs  to 
one  or  two  of  the  supremest  works  of  art  ever 
created. 

xn. 

Never  pretty,  scarcely  ever  charming  or  even 
attractive  ;  rarely  correct  in  drawing,  and  sel- 
dom satisfactory  in  colour  ;  in  types,  ill- 
favoured  ;  in  feeling  acutely  intense  and  even 
dolorous — what  is  it  then  that  makes  Sandro 
Botticelli  so  irresisliijle   that  nowadays  we  may 


70  BOTTICELLI 

have  no  alternative  but  to  worship  or  abhor 
him?  The  secret  is  this,  that  in  European 
painting  there  has  neveragain  been  an  artist  so 
indifferent  to  representation  and  so  intent  upon 
presentation.  Educated  in  a  period  of  triumph- 
ant naturalism,  he  plunged  at  first  into  mere 
representation  with  almost  self-obliterating 
earnestness  ;  the  pupil  of  Fra  Filippo,  he  was 
trained  to  a  love  of  spiritual  genre ;  himself 
gifted  with  strong  instincts  for  the  significant, 
he  was  able  to  create  such  a  type  of  the  thinker 
as  in  his  fresco  of  St.  Augustin  ;  yet  in  his  best 
years  he  left  everything,  even  spiritual  signifi- 
cance, behind  him,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the 
presentation  of  those  qualities  alone  which  in  a 
picture  are  <^z>r^//;/ life-communicating,  and  life- 
enhancing.  Those  of  us  who  care  for  nothing 
in  the  work  of  art  but  what  it  represents,  are 
either  powerfully  attracted  or  repelled  by  his 
unhackneyed  types  and  quivering  feeling ;  but 
if  we  are  such  as  have  an  imagination  of  touch 
and  of  movement  that  it  is  easy  to  stimulate, 
we  feel  a  pleasure  in  Botticelli  that  few,  if  any, 
other  artists  can  give  us.  Long  after  we  have 
exhausted   both  the  intensest  sympathies  and 


BOTTICELLI  7 1 

the  most  violent  antipathies  with  which  the 
representative  elements  in  his  pictures  may 
have  inspired  us,  we  are  only  on  the  verge  of 
full)'  appreciating  his  real  genius.  This  in  its 
happiest  moments  is  an  unparalleled  power  of 
"perfectly  combining  values  oT  touch  with 
values  oT  movement. 

^^^ekr-f^r^mstance,  at  Botticelli's  "Venus 
Rising  from  the  Sea."  Throughout,  the  tactile 
imagination  is  roused  to  a  keen  activity,  by 
itself  almost  as  life  heightening  as  music.  But 
the  power  of  music  is  even  surpassed  where,  as 
in  the  goddess'  mane-like  tresses  of  hair  flutter- 
ing to  the  wind,  not  in  disorderly  rout  but  in 
masses  yielding  only  after  resistance,  the  move- 
ment is  directly  life-communicating.  The  en- 
tire picture  presents  us  with  the  quintessence 
of  all  that  is  pleasurable  to  our  imagination  of 
touch  and  of  movement.  How  we  revel  in  the 
force  and  freshness  of  the  wind,  in  the  life  of 
the  wave !  And  such  an  appeal  he  always 
makes.  His  subject  may  be  fanciful,  as  in  the 
"  Realm  of  Venus  "  (the  "Spring");  religious, 
as  in  the  Sixtine  Ciiapel  frescoes  or  in  the 
"Coronation  of  the  \'irgin  "  ;  political,  as  in  the 


72  BOTTICELLI 

recently  discovered  "  PallasTaming  a  Centaur"  ; 
or  even  crudely  allegorical,  as  in  the  Louvre 
frescoes, — no  matter  how  unpropitious,  how 
abstract  the  idea,  the  vivid  appeal  to  our  tactile 
sense,  the  life-communicating  movement  is  al- 
ways there.  Indeed,  at  times  it  seems  that  the 
less  artistic  the  theme,  the  more  artistic  the  ful- 
filment, the  painter  being  impelled  to  give  the 
utmost  values  of  touch  and  movement  to  just 
those  figures  which  are  liable  to  be  read  off  as 
mere  empty  symbols.  Thus,  on  the  figure 
representing  political  disorder — the  Centaur — 
in  the  "  Pallas,"  Botticelli  has  lavished  his 
most  intimate  gifts.  He  constructs  the  torso 
and  flanks  in  such  a  way  that  every  line,  every 
indentation,  every  boss  appeals  so  vividly  to  the 
sense  of  touch  that  our  fingers  feel  as  if  they 
had  everywhere  been  in  contact  with  his  body, 
while  his  face  gives  to  a  still  heightened  degree 
this  convincing  sense  of  reality,  every  line  func- 
tioning perfectly  for  the  osseous  structure  of 
brow,  nose,  and  cheeks.  As  to  the  hair — imag- 
ine shapes  having  the  supreme  life  of  line  you 
may  see  in  the  contours  of  licking  flames,  and 
yet  possessed  of  all  the  plasticity  of  something 


LINEAL   DECORATION  73 

which   caresses  the  hand  that  models  it  to  its 
own  desire! 

In  fact,  the  mere  subject,  and  even  repre- 
sentation in  general,  was  so  indifferent  to 
Botticelli,  that  he  appears  almost  as  if  haunted 
by  the  idea  of  communicating  the  unembodicd 
values  of  touch  and  movement.  Now^  there  is 
a  way  of  rendering  even  tactile  values  with 
almost  no  body,  and  that  is  by  translating 
them  as  faithfully  as  may  be  into  values  of 
movement.  For  instance  : — we  want  to  render 
the  roundness  of  a  wrist  wathout  the  slightest 
touch  of  either  light  or  shade  ;  we  simply  give 
the  movement  of  the  wrist's  outline  and  the 
movement  of  the  drapery  as  it  falls  over  it,  and 
the  roundness  is  communicated  to  us  almost 
entirely  in  terms  of  movement.  But  let  us  go 
one  step  further.  Take  this  line  that  renders 
the  roundness  of  the  wrist,  or  a  more  obvious 
example,  the  lines  that  render  the  movements 
of  the  tossing  hair,  the  fluttering  draperies,  and 
the  dancing  waves  in  the  "  Birth  of  Venus" — 
take  these  lines  alone  with  all  their  power  of 
stimulating  our  imagination  of  movement,  and 
what  do  we  have  ?     Pure  values  of  movement 


74  LINEAL   DECORATION 

abstracted,  unconnected  with  any  representa- 
tion whatever.  This  kind  of  line,  then,  being 
the  quintessence  of  movement,  has,  hke  the 
essential  elements  in  all  the  arts,  a  power  of 
stimulating  our  imagination  and  of  directly 
communicating  life.  Well !  imagine  an  art 
made  up  entirely  of  these  quintessences  of 
movement-values,  and  you  will  have  something 
that  holds  the  same  relation  to  representation 
that  music  holds  to  speech — and  this  art  exists, 
and  is  called  lineal  decoration.  In  this  art  of 
arts  ScLndro  Botticelli  may  have  had  rivals  in 
Japan  and  elsewhere  in  the  East,  but  in 
Europe  never.  To  its  demands  he  was  ready 
to  sacrifice  everything  that  habits  acquired 
urrder  Filippo  and  Pollaiuolo, — and  his  em- 
ployers ! — would  permit.  The  representative 
element  was  for  him  a  mere  libretto :  he 
was  happiest  when  his  subject  lent  itself  to 
translation  into  what  may  be  called  a  lineal 
symphony.  And  to  this  symphony  everything 
was  made  to  yield  ;  tactile  values  were  trans- 
lated into  values  of  movement,  and,  for  the 
same  reason — to  prevent  the  drawing  of  the 
eye  inward,  to  permit  it  to  devote  itself  to  the 


rorrLAA'/sEf:s  of  akt  75 

rhythm  of  the  hnc — the  backgrounds  were 
either  entirely  suppressed  or  kept  as  simple  as 
possible.  Colour  also,  with  almost  a  contempt 
for  its  representative  function,  Botticelli  en- 
tirely subordinated  to  his  lineal  scheme,  com- 
pelling it  to  draw  attention  to  the  line,  rather 
than,  as  is  usual,  away  from  it. 

This  is  the  explanation  of  the  value  put  upon 
Botticelli's  masterpieces.  In  some  of  his  later 
works,  such  as  the  Dresden  prcdellc,  we  have, 
it  is  true,  bacchanals  rather  than  symphonies  of 
line,  and  in  many  of  his  earlier  paintings,  in  the 
"  Fortccza,"  for  instance,  the  harness  and  trap- 
pings have  so  disguised  Pegasus  that  we 
scarcely  know  him  from  a  cart  horse.  But  the 
painter  of  the  "  Venus  Rising  from  the  Sea," 
of  the  "  Spring,"  or  of  the  Villa  Lemmi  fres- 
coes is  the  greatest  artist  of  lineal  design  that 
Europe  has  ever  had. 

XIII. 

Leonardo  and  Botticelli,  like  Michelangelo 
after  them,  found  imitators  but  not  succcsssors. 
To  communicate  more  material  and  spiritual 
significance  tiian  Lconardcj,  would   have  taken 


76  POPULARISERS   OF  ART 

an  artist  with  deeper  feeling  for  significance  ; 
to  get  more  music  out  of  design  than  Botti- 
celH,  would  have  required  a  painter  with  even 
greater  passion  for  the  re-embodiment  of  the 
pure  essences  of  touch  and  movement.  There 
were  none  such  in  Florence,  and  the  followers 
of  Botticelli — Leonardo's  were  all  Milanese, 
and  do  not  here  concern  us — could  but  imitate 
the  patterns  of  their  master:  the  patterns  of  the 
face,  the  patterns  of  the  composition,  and  the 
patterns  of  the  line;  dragging  them  down  to 
their  own  level,  sugaring  them  down  to  their 
own  palate,  slowing  them  down  to  their  own 
insensitiveness  for  what  is  life-communicating. 
And  although  their  productions,  vv^hich  were 
nothing  but  translations  of  great  man's  art  into 
average  man's  art,  became  popular,  as  was 
inevitable,  with  the  average  man  of  their  time, 
(who  comprehended  them  better  and  felt  more 
comfortable  in  their  presence  than  in  that  of 
the  originals  which  he  respectfully  admired  but 
did  not  so  thoroughly  enjoy),  nevertheless  we 
need  not  dwell  on  these  popularisers  nor  on 
their  popularisations — not  even  on  Filippino, 
with  his  touch  of   consumptive  delicacy,  nor 


FRA    BARTOLOMMEO  TJ 

Raffaclino  del  Garbo,  with  his  glints  of  never-to- 
be-fulfilled  promise. 

Before  approaching  the  one  man  of  genius 
left  in  Florence  after  Botticelli  and  Leonardo, 
before  speaking  of  Michelangelo,  the  man  in 
whom  all  that  was  most  peculiar  and  much 
that  was  greatest  in  the  striving  of  Florentine 
art  found  its  fulfilment,  let  us  turn  for  a 
moment  to  a  few  painters  who,  just  because 
they  were  men  of  manifold  talent,  might  else- 
where almost  have  become  masters.  Fra 
Bartolommeo,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Pontormo, 
and  Bronzino  were  perhaps  no  less  gifted  as 
artists  than  Palma,  Bonifazio  Veronese,  Lotto, 
and  Tintoretto  ;  but  their  talents,  instead  of 
being  permitted  to  flower  naturally,  were 
scorched  by  the  passion  for  showing  off  dex- 
terity, blighted  by  academic  ideals,  and  uproot- 
ed by  the  whirlwind  force  of  Michelangelo. 

Fra  Bartolommeo,  who  in  temperament  was 
delicate,  refined,  graceful,  and  as  a  painter  had 
a  miniaturist's  feeling  for  the  dainty,  was  in- 
duced to  desert  his  lovely  women,  his  exquisite 
landscape,  and  his  gentleness  of  expression  for 
figures  constructed  mechanically  on  a  colossal 


78  ANDREA   DEL   SARTO 

scale,  or  for  effects  of  the  round  at  any 
cost.  And  as  evil  is  more  obvious  than  good, 
Bartolommeo,  the  painter  of  that  masterpiece 
of  colour  and  light  and  shade,  of  graceful  move- 
ment and  charming  feeling,  the  "Madonna  with 
the  Baptist  and  St.  Stephen"  in  the  Cathedral  at 
Lucca,  Bartolommeo,  the  dainty  deviser  of  Mr. 
Mond's  tiny  "Nativity,"  Bartolommeo,  the  arti- 
ficer of  a  hundred  masterpieces  of  pen  drawing, 
is  almost  unknown ;  and  to  most  people  Fra 
Bartolommeo  is  a  sort  of  synonym  for  pom- 
posity. He  is  known  only  as  the  author  of 
physically  colossal,  spiritually  insignificant 
prophets  and  apostles,  or,  perchance,  as  the 
painter  of  pitch-dark  altar-pieces :  this  being 
the  reward  of  devices  to  obtain  mere  relief. 

Andrea  del  Sarto  approached  perhaps  as 
closely  to  a  Giorgione  or  a  Titian  as  could  a 
Florentine,  ill  at  ease  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Leonardo  and  Michelangelo.  As  an  artist  he 
was,  it  is  true,  not  endowed  with  the  profound- 
est  sense  for  the  significant,  yet  within  the 
sphere  of  common  humanity  who  has  produced 
anything  more  genial  than  his  "  Portrait  of  a 
Lady  " — probably  his  wife — with  a  Petrarch  in 


ANDREA    DEL   SARTO  79 

her  hands  ?  Where  out  of  Venetia  can  we 
find  portraits  so  simple,  so  frank,  and  yet  so 
interpretive  as  his  "Sculptor,"  or  as  his  various 
portraits  of  himself — these,  by  the  way,  an  auto- 
biography as  complete  as  any  in  existence, 
and  tragic  as  few?  Almost  Venetian  again  is 
his  "St.  James"  caressing  children,  a  work  of 
the  sweetest  feeling.  Even  in  colour  elTect,  and 
technique,  how  singularly  close  to  the  best 
Venetian  painting  in  his  "  Dispute  about  the 
Trinity" — what  blacks  and  whites,  what  greys 
and  purplish  browns!  And  in  addition,  tactile 
values  peculiar  to  Florence — what  a  back  St. 
Sebastian's!  But  in  a  work  of  scarcely  less 
technical  merit,  the  "  Madonna  of  the  Harpys," 
we  already  feel  the  man  not  striving  to  get  the 
utmost  out  of  himself,  but  panting  for  the 
grand  and  magnificent.  Even  here,  he  remains 
almost  a  great  artist,  because  his  natural  ro- 
bustness comes  to  his  rescue  ;  but  the  "  Ma- 
donna" is  too  obviously  statuesque,  and,  good 
saints,  pray  why  all  these  draperies? 

The  obviously  statuesque  and  draperies  were 
Andrea's  devices  for  keeping  his  head  above 
water  in  the  rising  tide  of  the  Michelangclesque. 


80  ANDREA   DEL   SARTO 

As  you  glance  in  sequence  at  the  Annunziata 
frescoes,  on  the  whole  so  full  of  vivacity,  gaiety, 
and  genuine  delight  in  life,  you  see  from  one 
fresco  to  another  the  increased  attention  given 
to  draperies.  In  the  Scalzo  series,  otherwise 
masterpieces  of  tactile  values,  the  draperies  do 
their  utmost  to  smother  the  figures.  Most  of 
these  paintings  are  closed  in  with  ponderous 
forms  which  have  no  other  purpose  than  to  serve 
as  a  frame,  and  as  clothes-horses  for  draperies  : 
witness  the  scene  of  Zacharias  in  the  temple, 
wherein  none  of  the  bystanders  dare  move  for 
fear  of  disturbing  their  too  obviously  arranged 
folds. 

Thus  by  constantly  sacrificing  first  spiritual, 
and  then  material  significance  to  pose  and 
draperies,  Andrea  loses  all  feehng  for  the  essen- 
tial in  art.  What  a  sad  spectacle  is  his  "Assump- 
tion," wherein  the  Apostles,  the  Virgin  herself, 
have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  show  off 
draperies  !  Instead  of  feeling,  as  in  the  presence 
of  Titian's  "Assunta,"  wrapped  into  heaven, 
you  gaze  at  a  number  of  tailor's  men,  each 
showing  how  a  stuff  you  are  thinking  of  trying 
looks  on  the  back,  or  in  a  certain  effect  of  light. 


POA'TOKMO  8 1 

But  let  us  not  end  on  this  note ;  let  us  bear  in 
mind  that,  despite  all  his  faults,  Andrea  painted 
the  one  "  Last  Supper"  which  can  be  looked  at 
with  pleasure  after  Leonardo's. 

Pontormo,  who  had  it  in  him  to  be  a  deco- 
rator and  portrait-painter  of  the  highest  rank, 
was  led  astray  by  his  awe-struck  admiration  for 
Michelangelo,  and  ended  as  an  academic  con- 
structor of  monstrous  nudes.  What  he  could 
do  when  expressing  /liuisc/f,  we  see  in  the 
lunette  at  Poggio  a  Caiano,  as  design,  as  colour, 
as  fancy,  the  freshest,  gayest,  most  appropriate 
mural  decoration  now  remaining  in  Italy  ;  what 
he  could  do  as  a  portrait-painter,  we  see  in  his 
wonderfull}'  decorative  panel  of  Cosimo  dei 
Medici  at  San  Marco,  or  in  his  portrait  of  a 
"  Lady  with  a  Dog  "  (at  Frankfort),  perhaps  the 
first  portrait  ever  painted  in  which  the  sitter's 
social  position  was  insisted  upon  as  much  as 
the  personal  character.  What  Pontormo  sank 
to,  we  sec  in  such  a  riot  of  meaningless  nudes, 
all  caricatures  of  Michelangelo,  as  his  "Martyr- 
dom of  Forty  Saints." 

liron/.iiu),  Pontormc/s  close  folhnvcr,  had 
none  of  his  master's  talent  as  a  decorator,  l)ut 

6 


82  '      BRONZINO 

happily  much  of  his  power  as  a  portrait-painter. 
Would  he  had  never  attempted  anything  else  ! 
The  nude  without  material  or  spiritual  signifi- 
cance, with  no  beauty  of  design  or  colour,  the 
nude  simply  because  it  was  the  nude,  was 
Bronzino's  ideal  in  composition,  and  the  result 
is  his  "■  Christ  in  Limbo."  But  as  a  portrait- 
painter,  he  took  up  the  note  struck  by  his  mas- 
ter and  continued  it,  leaving  behind  him  a  series 
of  portraits  which  not  only  had  their  effect 
in  determining  the  character  of  Court  painting 
all  over  Europe,  but,  what  is  more  to  the  point, 
a  series  of  portraits  most  of  which  are  works  of 
art.  As  painting,  it  is  true,  they  are  hard,  and 
often  timid ;  but  their  air  of  distinction,  their 
interpretive  qualities,  have  not  often  been  sur- 
passed. In  his  Uffizi  portraits  of  Eleanoro  di 
Toledo,  of  Prince  Ferdinand,  of  the  Princess 
Maria,  we  seem  to  see  the  prototypes  of  Velas- 
quez' queens,  princes,  and  princesses  :  and  for  a 
fine  example  of  dignified  rendering  of  charac- 
ter, look  in  the  Sala  Baroccio  of  the  Ufifizi  at 
a  bust  of  a  young  woman  with  a  missal  in  her 
hand. 


MICHELANGELb  83 

XIV. 

The  great  Florentine  artists,  as  we  have  seen, 
were,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  bent  upon 
rpn^^ring-    thp    TT\ntfri?^l    «^ignif!rnnrp    of    vi^ihl e 

things^  This,  little  though  they  may  have  form- 
ulated it,  was  the  conscious  aim  of  most  of 
them  ;  and  in  proportion  as  they  emancipated 
themselves  ffom  ecclesiastical  dominion,  and 
found  among  their  employers  men  capable  of 
understanding  them,  their  aim  became  more 
and  more  conscious  and  their  striving  more 
energetic,  l^t  last  appeared  the  man  who  was 
the  pupil  of  nobody,  the  heir  of  everybody,  who 
felt  profoundly  and  powerfully  what  to  his  pre- 
cursors had  been  vague  instinct,  who  saw  and 
expressed  the  meaning  of  it  alllXThe  seed  that 
produced  him  had  already  flowered  into  a 
Giotto,  and  (^nce  again  into  a  Masaccio ;  in 
him,  the  last  of  his  race,  born  in  contlitions 
artistically  most  propitious,  all  the  energies  re- 
maining in  his  stock  were  concentrated,  andja 
lmnI'"lorentine  art  had  itsjogical.culmination. 
Michelangelo  had  a  sense  for  the  materially 
significant  as  great  as  Giotto's  or  Masaccio's, 


84       ANTHROPOMORPHISATION  IN  ART 

but  he  possessed  means  of  rendering,  inherited 
from  Donatello,  Pollaiuolo,  Verrocchio  and 
Leonardo, — means  that  had  been  undreamt  of 
by  Giotto  or  even  by  Masaccio.  Add  to  this 
that  he  saw  clearly  what  before  him  had  been 
felt  only  dimly,  that  there  was  no  other  such  in- 
strument for  conveying  inateriaL-signij5.cance  as 
the  human  nude.  This  fact  is  as  closely  de- 
pendent on  the  general  conditions  of  realising 
objects  as  tactile  values  are  on  the  psychology 
of  sight.  We  realise  objects  when  we  perfectly 
translate  them  into  terms  of  our  own  states,  our 
own  feelings.  So  obviously  true  is  this,  that 
even  the  least  poetically  inclined  among  us,  be- 
cause we  keenly  realise  the  movement  of  a  rail- 
way train,  to  take  one  example  out  of  millions, 
speak  of  it  as  going  or  running,  instead  of  roll- 
ing on  its  xvheels,  thus  being  no  less  guilty  of 
anthropomorphising  than  the  most  unregener- 
ate  savages.  Of  this  same  fallacy  we  are  guilty 
every  time  we  think  of  anything  whatsoever 
with  the  least  warmth — we  are  lending  this 
thing  some  human  attributes.  The  more  we 
endow  it  with  human  attributes,  the  less  we 
merely  know  it,  the  more  we  realise  it,  the  more 


VALUE   OF    THE  NUDE  IN  ART  85 

does  it  approach  the  work  of  art.  Now  there  is 
one  and  only  one  object  in  the  visible  universe 
which  we  need  not  anthropomorphise  to  realise 
— and  that  is  man  himself.  His  movements, 
his  actions,  are  the  only  things  we  realise  with- 
out any  myth-making  efTort — directly.  Hence, 
there  is  no  visible  object  of  such  artistic  possi- 
bilities as  the  human  body  ;  nothing  with  which 
we  are  so  familiar  ;  nothing,  therefore,  in  which 
we  so  rapidly  perceive  changes  ;  nothing,  then, 
which  if  represented  so  as  to  be  realised  more 
quickly  and  vividly  than  in  life,  will  produce  its 
effect  with  such  velocity  and  power,  and  so 
strongly  confirm  our  sense  of  capacity  for  living. 
Values  of  touch  and  movement,  we  remem- 
ber, are  the  specifically  artistic  qualities  in 
figure  painting  (at  least,  as  practised  by  the 
Florentines),  for  it  is  through  them  chiefly  that 
painting  directly  heightens  life.  Now  while  it 
remains  true  that  tactile  values  can,  as  Giotto 
and  Masaccio  have  forever  established,  be  ad- 
mirably rendered  on  the  draped  figure,  yet 
drapery  is  a  hindrance,  and,  at  the  best,  only  a 
way  out  of  a  difficulty,  for  we  ficl  it  masking 
the  really  significant,  which  is  the  form  tmdcr- 


i 


r 

86  VALUE   OF   THE  NUDE  IN  ART 

neath.  A  mere  painter,  one  who  is  satisfied  to 
reproduce  what  everybody  sees,  and  to  paint 
for  the  fun  of  painting,  will  scarcely  compre- 
hend this  feeling.  His  only  significant  is  the 
obvious — in  a  figure,  the  face  and  the  clothing, 
as  in  most  of  the  portraits  manufactured  nowa- 
days. The  artist,  even  when  compelled  to  paint 
draped  figures,  will  force  the  drapery  to  render 
the  nude,  in  other  words  the  material  signifi- 
cance of  the  human  body.  But  how  much  more 
clearly  will  this  significance  shine  out,  how  much 
more  convincingly  will  the  character  manifest 
itself,  when  between  its  perfect  rendering  and 
the  artist  nothing  intervenes!  And  this  perfect 
rendering  is  to  be  accomplished  with  the  nude 
only. 

If  draperies  are  a  hindrance  to  the  convey- 
ance of  tactile  values,  they  make  the  perfect 
rendering  of  movement  next  to  impossible.  To 
realise  the  play  of  muscle  everywhere,  to  get 
the  full  sense  of  the  various  pressures  and  re- 
sistances, to  receive  the  direct  inspiration  of  the 
energy  expended,  we  must  have  the  nude ;  for 
here  alone  can  we  watch  those  tautnesses  of 
muscle  and  those  stretchings  and  relaxings  and 


VALUE   OF    THE  NUDE  IN  ART  87 

ripplings  of  skin  which,  translated  into  similar 
strains  on  our  own  persons,  make  us  fully 
realise  movement.  Here  alone  the  translation, 
owing  to  the  multitude  and  the  clearness  of  the 
appeals  made,  is  instantaneous,  and  the  conse- 
quent sense  of  increased  capacity  almost  as 
great  as  can  be  attained  ;  while  in  the  draped 
figure  we  miss  all  the  appeal  of  visible  muscle 
and  skin,  and  realise  movement  only  after  a  slow 
translation  of  certain  functional  outlines,  so  that 
the  sense  of  capacity  which  we  receive  from 
the  perception  of  movement  is  increased  but 
slightly. 

We  arc  now  able  to  understand  why  every 
art  whose  chief  preoccupation  is  the  human 
figure  must  have  the  nude  for  its  chief  interest ; 
why,  also,  the  nude  is  the  most  absorbing 
problem  of  classic  art  at  all  times.  Not  only 
'"L't^b^  hrsf  vrhirlp  fpr  ^H  that  in  art  VliiclTls 
dirortljHjfp-rnnfirini'ng  and  lif'"-rTlhpn/'in;j  but 
it  is  itself  tb^  mnqf  -sdgni£r;inf  object  in  tllC 
human  world.  The  first  person  since  the  great 
days  of  Greek  sculpture  to  comprehend  fully 
the  identity  of  the  nude  with  great  figure  art, 
was  Michelangelo.     Before   him,   it   had   been 


88  MICHELANGELO 

studied  for  scientific  purposes — as  an  aid  in 
rendering  the  draped  figure.  He  saw  that  it 
was  an  end  in  itself,  and  the  final  purpose  of 
his  art.  For  him  the  nude  and  art  were  synony- 
mous. Here  Hes  the  secret  of  his  successes 
and  his  failures. 

First,  his  successes.  Nowhere  outside  of  the 
best  Greek  art  shall  we  find,  as  in  Michelangelo's 
works,  forms  whose  tactile  values  so  increase 
our  sense  of  capacity,  whose  movements  are  so 
directly  communicated  and  inspiring.  Other 
artists  have  had  quite  as  much  feeling  for  tac- 
tile values  alone, — Masaccio,  for  instance  ; 
others  still  have  had  at  least  as  much  sense  of 
movement  and  power  of  rendering  it, — Leon- 
ardo, for  example  ;  but  no  other  artist  of 
modern  times,  having  at  all  his  control  over 
the  materially  significant,  has  employed  it  as 
Michelangelo  did,  on  the  one  subject  where  its 
full  value  can  be  manifested — the  nude.  Hence 
of  all  the  achievements  of  modern  art,  his  are 
the  most  invigorating.  Surely  not  often  is  our 
imagination  of  touch  roused  as  by  his  Adam 
in  the  "  Creation,"  by  his  Eve  in  the  "  Tempta- 
tion," or  by  his  many  nudes  in  the  same  ceiling 


MICHELANGELO  89 

of  the  Sixtinc  Chapel, — there  for  no  other  pur- 
pose, be  it  noted,  than  their  direct  tonic  effect ! 
Nor  is  it  less  rare  to  quaff  such  draughts  of 
unadulterated  energy  as  we  receive  from  the 
"God  Creating  Adam,"  the  ''Boy  Angel"  stand- 
ing by  Isaiah,  or — to  choose  one  or  two  instances 
from  his  drawings  (in  their  own  kind  the  great- 
est in  existence) — the  "  Gods  Shooting  at  a 
Mark  "  or  the  "  Hercules  and  the  Lion." 

And  to  this  feeling  for  the  materially  signifi- 
cant and  all  this  power  of  conveying  it,  to  all 
this  more  narrowly  artistic  capacity,  Michel- 
angelo joined  an  ideal  of  beauty  and  force,  a 
vision  of  a  glorious  but  possible  humanity, 
which,  again,  has  never  had  its  like  in  modern 
times.  Manliness,  robustness,  effectiveness, 
the  fulfilment  of  our  dream  of  a  great  soul  in- 
habiting a  beautiful  body,  we  shall  encounter 
nowhere  else  so  frequently  as  among  the  figures 
in  the  Sixtine  Chapel.  Michelangelo  completed 
what  Masaccio  had  begun,  the  creation  of  the 
type  of  man  best  fitted  to  subdue  and  control 
the  earth,  and,  who  knows  !  perhaps  more  than 
the  earth.  ' 

But  unfortunatel)',  though  born  and  nurtured 


90         LAST    WORKS  OF  MICHELANGELO 

in  a  world  where  his  feeling  for  the  nude  and 
his  ideal  of  humanity  could  be  appreciated,  he 
passed  most  of  his  life  in  the  midst  of  tragic 
disasters,  and  while  yet  in  the  fulness  of  his 
vigour,  in  the  midst  of  his  most  creative  years, 
he  found  himself  alone,  perhaps  the  greatest, 
but  alas  !  also  the  last  of  the  giants  born  so 
plentifully  during  the  fifteenth  century.  He 
lived  on  in  a  world  he  could  not  but  despise,  in 
a  world  which  really  could  no  more  employ 
him  than  it  could  understand  him.  He  was 
not  allowed,  therefore,  to  busy  himself  where 
he  felt  most  drawn  by  his  genius,  and,  much 
against  his  own  strongest  impulses,  he  was 
obliged  to  expend  his  energy  upon  such  sub- 
jects as  the  "  Last  Judgment."  His  later  works 
all  show  signs  of  the  altered  conditions,  first  in 
an  overflow  into  the  figures  he  was  creating  of 
the  scorn  and  bitterness  he  was  feeling,  then  in 
the  lack  of  harmony  between  his  genius  and 
what  he  was  compelled  to  execute.  His  pas- 
sion was  the  nude,  his  ideal  power.  But  what 
outlet  for  such  a  passion,  what  expression  for 
such  an  ideal  could  there  be  in  subjects  like  the 
"  Last    Judgment,"    or    the    "  Crucifixion    of 


LAST    Jro A' AS  OF  MICHELANGELO         9 1 

Peter " — subjects  which  the  Christian  world 
imperatively  demanded  should  incarnate  the 
fear  of  the  humble  and  the  self-sacrifice  of  the 
patient?  Now  humility  and  patience  were  feel- 
ings as  unknown  to  Michelangelo  as  to  Dante 
before  him,  or,  for  that  matter,  to  any  other  of 
the  world's  creative  geniuses  at  any  time. 
Even  had  he  felt  them,  he  had  no  means  of 
expressing  them,  for  his  nudes  could  convey  a 
sense  of  power,  not  of  weakness  ;  of  terror,  not 
of  dread  ;  of  despair,  but  not  of  submission. 
And  terror  the  giant  nudes  of  the  "  Last  Judg- 
ment "  do  feel,  but  it  is  not  terror  of  the  Judge, 
who,  being  in  no  wise  different  from  the  others, 
in  spite  of  his  omnipotent  gesture,  seems  to  be 
announcing  rather  than  willing  what  the  by- 
standers, his  fellows,  could  not  iiinvill.  As  the 
representation  of  the  moment  before  the  uni- 
verse disappears  in  chaos — Gods  huddling  to- 
gether for  the  Gdtterddvu)icrimg — the  "  Last 
Judgment  "  is  as  grandly  conceived  as  possible  : 
but  when  the  crash  comes,  none  will  sur- 
vive it,  no,  not  even  God.  Michelangelo 
therefore  failed  in  his  conception  of  the  sub- 
ject,   and    could     not     but     fail.       But     where 


92  LAST    WORKS  OF  MICHELANGELO 

else  in  the  whole  world  of  art  shall  we 
receive  such  blasts  of  energy  as  from 
this  giant's  dream,  or,  if  you  will,  nightmare? 
For  kindred  reasons,  the  "  Crucifixion  of  Peter  " 
is  a  failure.  Art  can  be  only  life-communicating 
and  life-enhancing.  If  it  treats  of  pain  and 
death,  these  must  always  appear  as  manifesta- 
tions and  as  results  only  of  living  resolutely 
and  energetically.  What  chance  is  there,  I 
ask,  for  this,  artistically  the  only  possible  treat- 
ment, in  the  representation  of  a  man  crucified 
with  his  head  downwards  ?  Michelangelo  could 
do  nothing  but  make  the  bystanders,  the  execu- 
tioners, all  the  more  life-communicating,  and 
therefore  inevitably  more  sympathetic !  No 
wonder  he  failed  here  !  What  a  tragedy,  by 
the  way,  that  the  one  subject  perfectly  cut  out 
for  his  genius,  the  one  subject  which  required 
none  but  genuinely  artistic  treatment,  his 
"  Bathers,"  executed  forty  years  before  these 
last  works,  has  disappeared,  leaving  but  scant 
traces  !  Yet  even  these  suffice  to  enable  the 
competent  student  to  recognise  that  this  com- 
position must  have  been  the  greatest  master- 
piece in  figure  art  of  modern  times. 


LAST    WORKS  OF  MICHELANGELO         93 

That  Michelangelo  had  faults  of  his  own 
is  undeniable.  As  he  got  older,  and  his  genius, 
lacking  its  proper  outlets,  tended  to  stagnate 
and  thicken,  he  fell  into  exaggerations — ex- 
aggerations of  power  into  brutality,  of  tactile 
values  into  feats  of  modelling.  No  doubt  he 
was  also  at  times  as  indifferent  to  representa- 
tion as  Botticelli  I  But  while  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  movement,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
tactile  values  without  representation.  Yet  he 
seems  to  have  dreamt  of  presenting  nothing 
but  tactile  values:  hence  his  many  drawings 
with  only  the  torso  adequately  treated,  the 
rest  unheeded.  Still  another  result  from  his 
passion  for  tactile  values.  I  have  already 
suggested  that  Giotto's  types  were  so  massive 
because  such  figures  most  easily  convey  values 
of  touch.  Michelangelo  tended  to  similar 
exaggerations, to  making  shoulders,  for  instance, 
too  broad  and  too  bossy,  simply  because  they 
make  thus  a  more  powerful  appeal  to  the  tac- 
tile imagination.  Indeed,  I  venture  to  go  even 
farther,  and  suggest  that  his  faults  in  all  the 
arts,  sculpture  no  less  than  painting,  and  archi- 
tecture no  less  than  sculpture,  are  due  to  this 


94  CONSTANT  AIMS  OF  FLORENTINE  ART 

self-same  predilection  for  salient  projections. 
But  the  lover  of  the  figure  arts  for  what  in 
them  is  genuinely  artistic  and  not  merely 
ethical,  will  in  Michelangelo,  even  at  his  worst, 
get  such  pleasures  as,  excepting  a  few,  others, 
even  at  their  best,  rarely  give  him. 

In  closing,  let  us  note  what  results  clearly 
even  from  this  brief  account  of  the  Florentine 
school,  namely  that,  although  no  Florentine 
rngrely  took  u^^nd,£Qnlinued^a^_predecessor's 
work,  nevertheless  all,  from  first  to  last,  fought 
for  Jhe„sam£__caiise.  There  is^no_ opposition 
between  Giotto  and  Michelangelo.  The  best 
en_e_rgies^  the  6j:st^-oi-the  last,  and  of  all  the 
intervening  great  Florentine  artists  were  per- 
sistently  devoted  to  the  rendenng^j)f^  tactile 
values,  or  of  movement,  or  of  both.  Now 
successful  grappling  with  problems  of  form 
and  of  movement  are  at  the  bottom  of  all  the 
higher  arts ;  and  because  of  this  fact,  Florentine 
painting,  despite  its  many  faults,  is,  after  Greek 
sculpture,  the  most  serious  figure  _art  in  exist- 
ence. 


INDEX  TO  THE  WORKS  OF  THE  PRINCI- 
PAL FLORENTINE   PAINTERS. 


NOTE. 


The  following  lists  make  no  claim  to  absolute  completeness, 
but  no  genuine  work  by  the  painters  mentioned,  found  in  the 
better  known  public  or  private  collections,  has  been  omitted. 
With  the  exception  of  three  or  four  pictures,  which  he  knows 
only  in  the  photographs,  the  author  has  seen  and  carefully 
studied  every  picture  indicated,  and  is  alone  responsible  for 
the  attributions,  although  he  is  happy  to  acknowledge  his  in- 
debtedness to  the  writings  of  Signor  Cavalcaselle,  of  the  late 
Giovanni  Morelli,  of  Signor  Gustavo  Frizzoni,  and  of  Dr. 
J.  P.  Richter.  For  the  convenience  of  students,  lists  of  the 
sculptures,  but  the  more  important  only,  have  been  appended 
to  the  lists  of  pictures  by  those  artists  who  have  left  sculptures 
as  well  as  paintings. 

Public  galleries  are  mentioned  first,  then  private  collections, 
and  churches  last.  The  principal  public  gallery  is  always 
understood  after  the  simple  mention  of  a  city  or  town.  Thus, 
Paris  means  Paris,  Louvre,  London  means  London,  National 
Gallery,  etc. 

An  interrogation  point  after  the  title  of  a  picture  indi- 
cates that  its  attribution  to  the  given  painter  is  doubtful. 
Distinctly  early  or  late  works  are  marked  E.  or  L. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  attributions  here  given  are 
not  based  on  official  catalogues,  and  arc  often  at  variance  with 
them. 

95 


96 


WORKS  OF 


MARIOTTO  ALBERTINELLI. 

1474-1515.     Pupil  of  Cosimo  RosselH  and  Pier  di  Cosimo  ; 
influenced  by  Lorenzo  di  Credi.     Worked  in  partner- 
ship with  Fra  Bartolommeo, 
Bergamo.      Lochis,  203.    Crucifixion. 

MORELLI,  32.    St.  John  and  the  Magdalen. 
Florence.      Academy,  63.   Trinity. 

167.    Madonna  and  four  Saints. 
206.    Annunciation,  15 10. 
PiTTi,  365.    Holy  Family. 
Uffizi,  1259.  Visitation  and  Predella,  1503. 
CORSINI,  160.    Holy  Family,  1511. 
Gallery  of  Santa  Maria  Nuova,   72.    An- 
nunciation. 
Certosa  (near  Florence),  Crucifixion,  1506. 
Annunciation  (with  Fra  Bartolommeo),  1511. 
Poldi-Pezzoli,  139.    Triptych,  1500. 
1057.    Annunciation  and  two  Saints. 
II 14.  Madonna  and  Saints  (begun  by  Filippino), 

1506. 
S.  Caterina,   Madonna  and  Saints  (cartoon  by 

Fra  Bartolommeo),  1512. 
BORGHESE,    310.    Madonna   and    Infant    John 

(cartoon  by  Fra  Bartolommeo),  1512. 
421.    Head  of  Christ. 
Sala  XI,  115.    St.  Catherine,  15 12. 

116.    The  Magdalen,  1512. 
242,  243,  244.    Coronation  and  two  pttiti. 
Seminario,  18.  Madonna. 
DuoMO,  Annunciation.     E. 


Geneva. 
Milan. 
Munich. 
Paris. 

Pisa. 

Rome. 


Siena. 

Stuttgart. 

Venice. 

Volterra. 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 

1486-1531.     Pupil  of  Pier  di  Cosimo  ;  influenced  by  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo and  Michelangelo. 
Berlin.  240.  Bust  of  his  Wife. 

246,  Madonna  and  Saints,  1528. 


THE   II.ORF.XTIXE   PA/A'TEKS  9/ 

Dresden.        76.    Marriage  of  St.  Catherine. 

77.    Sacrifice  of  Isaac. 
Florence.      Academy,  61.  Two  Angels. 

75.  Dead  Christ  (fresco). 

76.  Four  Saints,  152S. 

77.  Predelle  to  above. 

Put  I,  58.    Deposition,  1524. 

66.    Portrait  of  Himself. 

81.    Holy  Family. 

87,  88.    Life  of  Joseph. 

124.    Annunciation. 

172.    Dispute  over  the  Trinity. 

184.  Portrait  of  Himself. 
igi.    Assumption,  153 r. 
225.    Assumption,  1526. 
272.    The  Baptist. 

Uffizi,  93.    "Noli  me  Tangere."     E. 

185.  Portrait  of  his  Wife. 

280.    Portrait  of  Himself  (fresco). 
1 1 12.    Madonna  dell'  Arpic,  1517. 
1 176.    Portrait  of  Himself. 
1230.    Portrait  of  Lady. 
1254.    St.  James. 

Chiostro   dello  Scalzo.     Frescoes   from  tlie 
Life  of  the  Baptist  and  four  Allegorical  Fig- 
ures, begun  1 5 15,  internipted  and  taken  up 
again  1522,  finished  1526. 
SS.  Anncnziata,  Entrance  Court,  frescoes ; 
five,  with  the  story  of  S.  Filippo  Benizzi, 
1509-1510.   Adoration  of  Magi,  1511.   Birth 
of  Virgin,  15 14. 
Chai'KLTO  L.  of  Entrance,  Head  of  Christ. 
Inner  Cloister,  Madonna  del  Sacco,  1525. 
S.    Salvi,    Last    Supper    (fresco),    begun    in 
1519. 
London.         690.    Portrait  of  a  Sculptor. 


98 


WORKS  OF 


Madrid.         387.    Sacrifice  of  Isaac. 
Munich.         1066.    Holy  Family. 
Paris.  1514.    Charity,  1518. 

151 5.    Holy  Family. 
Pisa.  DuoMO,  St.  Catherine,  St.  Margaret,  St.  Agnes. 

Poggio  a  Caiano.     Caesar  Receiving  Tribute  (fresco)  1521. 

(Finished  by  Al.  AUori.) 
Vienna.  411.    Pieta. 


FRA  ANGELICO  DA  FIESOLE. 

1387-1455.     Influenced    by    Lorenzo    Monaco,    and 
Masaccio. 

Berlin.  60.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

60-*^.    Last  Judgment.     L. 

61.  SS.  Dominic  and  Francis. 

62.  Glory  of  St.  Francis. 

Cortona.        S.  Domenico,  Triptych  with  Predella.     E. 

Jesu,  Annunciation.     E. 

Two  Predelle.     E. 
Florence.      Academy,  166.    Deposition  (three  pinnacles  by 
Lorenzo  Monaco). 

227.    Madonna  and  six  Saints. 

234-237.    Fifteen  panels  with  the  Life  of  Christ. 

243.    Story  of  SS.  Cosmas  and  Damian. 

246.    Entombment. 

250.  Crucifixion. 

251.  Coronation. 

252-254.    Seventeen   panels    with    the    Life   of 

Christ. 
257,  258.    Story  of  SS.  Cosmas  and  Damian. 

265.  Madonna  and  four  Saints. 

266.  Last  Judgment. 

281.    Madonna  and  eight  Saints. 
283.    Pieti  and  Saints  (predella). 


THE   FLOREXTIXE   PAIXTERS  99 

Florence.  ((Tew.).  Uffizi,   17.    Madonna,   with    Angels    and 
Saints  in  frame,  1433. 
1 162.    Birth  of  St.  John  (prcdclla  to  No.  1290). 
117S.    Sposalizio  (predella  to  No.  1290). 
1290.    Coronation. 
1294.    Triptych. 

MusEO  S.  Marco,  Cloister,  Frescoes,  St.  Peter 
Martyr.    St.  Dominic  at  Foot  of  Cross.     St. 
Dominic  (ruined).     Pieta,    Christ  as  Pilgrim 
with  two  Dominicans.    St. Thomas  Aquinas. 
Chapter  House,  Large  Crucifixion. 
Upper  Floor,  Wall,  Annunciation.     Domi- 
nic at  foot  of  Cross.     Madonna  and  eight 
Saints. 
Rooms:  i.     "  Noli  me  Tangere." 

2.  Entombment. 

3.  Annunciation. 
.}.  Crucifixion, 

5.  Nativity. 

6.  Transfiguration. 

7.  Ecce  Homo. 

8.  Resurrection. 

9.  Coronation. 

10.  Presentation  in  Temple. 

11.  Madonna  and  .Saints. 

15-23,  Crucifixions  (some  ruined). 

24.  Baptism. 

25.  Crucifixion. 

26.  Pieti, 

28.  Christ  bearing  Cross. 

31.  Descent  to  Limbo, 

32.  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

33.  Betrayal  of  Judas.    .Mso  small  Madonna 
and  .\ngels  (panel). 

34.  Agony  in  Garden. 

35.  Institution  of  Eucharist, 


lOO 


WORKS  OF 


Florence  {Con.).  36.  Nailing  to  Cross. 
Rooms  :  37.  Crucifixion. 

38.  Adoration  of  Magi  and  Pieta. 
42,  43.  Crucifixion. 

S.  DOMENICO   (near   Florence),    Madonna   and 
Saints  (architecture  and  landscape  by  L.  di 
Credi). 
Sacristy  of  adjoining  Monastery,  Cruci- 
fixion (fresco). 

663.  Paradise. 

14.  Annunciation. 

9S9-991.  Legends  of  Saints. 

982.  Entombment. 

DuoMo,  Chapel   of   S.  Biagio,  Ceiling  fres- 
coes, 1447  (assisted  by  Benozzo  Gossoli). 

Taylorian,  5.     Triptych. 

1290.  Coronation. 

1293.  Martyrdom  of  Cosmas  and  Damian. 

1294.  Crucifixion  (fresco). 
Sala  III,  25.  Madonna  and  four  Saints. 
Sala,  V,  1-8.    Altar-piece  in  many  parts. 
Sala  VI,  7.  Salvator  Mundi. 
CoRSiNi,  Sala  VII,  22.  Pentecost. 

23.  Last  Judgment. 

24.  Resurrection. 

Vatican.     Gallery.     Madonna.      Two   Pre- 
delle. 
Chapel  of  Nicholas  V.    Frescoes  from  Life 
of  Stephen.     L. 
Turin.  94,  96.  Adoring  Angels. 


London. 

Madrid. 
Munich. 

Orvieto. 

Oxford. 
Paris. 


Parma. 
Perugia. 
Pisa. 
Rome. 


BACCHIACCA  (Francesco  Ubertini). 

About    1494-1557.     Pupil    of    Perugino    and   Franciabigio ; 

influenced  by  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  Michelangelo. 
Bergamo.      Morelli,  62.  Death  of  Abel. 


THE   FI.OKENTIXK   PAIXTKKS 


lOI 


Berlin.  267.   Baptism. 

Dresden.       So.   Lcj^endary  Subject,  1523. 

Florence.       Pitti,  102.  The  Magdalen. 

Ufkizi,  87.   Descent  from  Cross. 

1296.  Life  of  St.  Ascasius  (predella). 

Bardini    Collection,     Moses    striking     the 
Rock. 

CORSINI,     164.     Madonna,     Infant    John,    and 
Sleeping  Child. 

206.   Portrait  of  Man,  1540. 
London.         1218,1219.   Story  of  Joseph. 

1304.  Marcus  Curtius. 

Mr.  Chakles  Butler,  Portrait  of  Youth. 
Milan.  Dr.  G.  Frizzoni,  Adam  and  Eve. 

Oxford,         Christ  Church,  55.     "  Noli  me  Tangere." 

57.  Resurrection  of  I.azarus. 
Richmond.    SiR  Francis  Cook,  Holy  Family. 
Rome.  Borghese,  425,  426,  427,  440,  442,  463.      Life 

of  Joseph. 
Venice.  Seminario,  23.   Madonna. 

Prince  Giovaneli.i,  Moses  striking  the  Rock. 
Wiesbaden.     Madonna  and  Infant  John. 


ALESSIO    BALDOVINETTI. 

1427-1499.      Pupil   of  Domenico  Veneziano  ;    influenced  by 

Paolo  Uccullo. 
Bergamo.      Mokelli,  23.     Portrait  of  Himself  (fresco). 
Florence.      Acauemv,  159.  Trinity,  1472. 
Uffizi,  56.   Annunciation. 
60.   Madonna  and  Saints. 
SS.  Annunziata,  Entrance  Court,  Nativity 

(fresco),  1462. 
S.  Miniato,  Portucihese  Chai'EL,  Annuncia- 
tion, Prophets  (fresco). 
S.  Pancrazio,  Resurrected  Christ  (fresco). 


102 


WORKS  OF 


Florence  {Con,).  S.  TrinitA,  Choir,  Ceiling  Frescoes:  Noah, 
Moses,  Abraham,  David  ;  Lunette  ;  Sacrifice 
of  Isaac,  finished  1497. 

Paris.  Mme.  Edouarp  Andr^,  Madonna. 

FRA  BARTOLOMMEO  (Baccio  della  Porta). 

1475-1517.    Pupil  of  Pier  di  Cosimo  ;  influenced  by  Leonardo 

and  Michelangelo. 
Berlin.  249.  Assumption  (upper  part  by  Albertinelli). 

Besangon.     Cathedral,  Madonna  in  glory,  and  Saints. 
Florence.      Academy,  58  St.  Vincent  Ferrer. 
97.  Vision  of  St.  Bernard,  1506. 
168.  Heads  in  fresco  (excepting  the  St.  John). 

171.  Madonna  (fresco). 

172.  Portrait  of  Savonarola. 

173.  Madonna  (fresco). 
PiTTi,  64.  Deposition. 
125.   St.  Mark,  1514. 

159.  Christ  and  the  Four  Evangelists,  1516. 

208.  Madonna  and  Saints,  1512. 

256.   Holy  Family. 

377.   Ecce  Homo  (fresco). 

Uffizi,  1 1 26.  Isaiah. 

1 1 30.  Job. 

1 161.  Small  Diptych.     E. 

MusEO    S.    Marco,    Refectory,    Crucifixion 

(fresco). 
Savonarola's   Cell,    Madonna ;    Christ  at 

Emmaus  (frescoes). 
Gallery  of  S.  Maria  Nuova,  Last  Judgment, 

begun  1499  (finished  by  Albertinelli). 
S.  Marco,  2  Altar  R.,  Madonna  and  Saints, 
1509. 
London.         Mr.    Ludwig    Mond,     Holy    Family.     Small 

Nativity. 


\ 


THE   FLOREXTIXE   PAINTERS 


\Q)\ 


London  ((">;/.).  Lord  Noutiihrook,  Holy  Family  (finished 

by  Albertinelli). 
Lucca.  Sala  II,  5.    Madonna  della  Misericordia,  1515. 

12.  Gud  adored  by  two  Saints,  1509. 

DfOMO,  Madonna  and  Saints,  1509. 
Milan.  Marchese  Visconti-Venosta,  Holy  Family. 

Naples.  Sala  Grande,  61.  Assumption. 

Panshanger.     Holy  Family.     Small  Burial  and  .Vscension 

of  S.  Antonino. 
Paris.  1 1 15.   "  Noli  me  Tangere."     E. 

1 1 53.  Annunciation,  1515. 

1154.  Madonna  and  Saints,  151 1. 

Pian  di  Mugnone.  S.   Mai)1:)ALENA,  Annunciation  (fresco), 

1515.     "Noli  nie  Tangere  "  (fresco),  1517. 

Richmond.    Sir  Fra.ncis  Cook,  Madonna,  St.  Elizabeth,  and 

Children,  15 16. 
Rome.  CoRSiM,  Sala  III,  26.    Holy  Family,  1516. 

QuiRlNAL,  SS.  Peter  and  Paul. 
Vienna.  28.  Circumcision,  1516. 


BENOZZO  GOZZOLI. 

1420-1498.     Pupil  possibly  of   Giuliano  Pescllo,  and  of  the 
Bicci  ;  assistant  and  follower  of  Fra  Angelico. 


Berlin.  60^.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 

Cologne.        774.    Madonna  and  Saints,  1473. 
Florence.       Uffizi,  1302.    Pieta  and  Saints  (prcdclla). 

Palazzo   Riccardi,    Procession   of   Magi   and 

Angels  (frescoes),  1459. 
Palazzo  Alessandki,  Four  predclle  :  Miracle 
of  S.    Zanobi,   Totila  before  St.  Benedict  ; 
Fall  of  Simon  Magus  ;  Conversion  of  Paul. 


I04  IV  on  A' S   OF 

S.  Gemigniano.     S.  Agostino,  Choir,  Life  of  St.  Augus- 
tin,  1465. 
2  Altar  L.  ,  St.  Sebastian. 
S.  Andrea,  Madonna,  1466. 
DuoMO,    Choir,    Madonna  and    Saints,    1466. 
Entrance    Wall,    St.    Sebastian   and  other 
frescoes,  1465. 
S.  Lucia,  Crucifixion  (fresco). 
Monte  Oliveto,  Crucifixion,  1466. 
London.         283.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels,  1461. 
r.Iontefalco.     S.  Fortunato,  over  Entrance,  Madonna, 
Saints,  and  Angels  (fresco). 
R.    Wall,    Madonna   and   Angel    (fresco), 
1450. 
S.  Francesco,   Choir,   frescoes :   Scenes   from 
the  Life  of  St.  Francis. 
Entrance  Chapel  R.,  frescoes,  1452. 
Paris.  1319.    Triumph  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas. 

Perugia.        Sala  V,  34.    Madonna  and  Saints,  1461. 
Pisa.  Sala  VI,  23.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 

24.    Madonna  and  St.  Anna. 
Campo   Santo,    Series    of    frescoes    from   Old 
Testament,  1469-14S1. 
Rome.  Lateran,  60.    Polyptych.     E. 

Vienna.  251.    Madonna  and  Saints  (predella). 

BOTTICELLI  (Alessandro  Filipepi.) 

1446-1510.     Pupil  of   Era   Filippo  ;  influenced  early  by  the 
PoUaiuoli,  later  by  Leonardo. 

Bergamo.      Morelli,  83.    Portrait  of  Giuliano  dei  Medici. 

84.  Stoiy  of  Virginia.     L. 

85.  Head  of  Christ. 
Berlin.            106.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

1128.    St.  Sebastian,  1473. 


THE  FLOREXTIXE   PAIXTEh'S  I05 

Boston,  U.  S.  A.     Mrs.  J.  L.  Gardm.r,  Death  of  Lucrc- 

tia.     L. 
Dresden.        12.    Scenes  from  Life  of  S.  Zanobi.     L. 
Florence.      Academy,  73.    Coronation. 

74.   Predella  to  above. 

80.    'Trimavera." 

85.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 

157.  Dead  Christ. 

158.  Death  of  St.  Augustin. 

161.  Salome. 

162.  Vision  of  St.  Augustin. 
Uffizi,  39.    Birth  of  Venus. 

I154.    Portrait  of  (?)  Piero  dei  Medici  (II  Got- 
toso). 

1 1 56.    Judith.     E. 

1 1 58.    Holophemes.     E. 

1 1 79.    St.  Augustin. 

1 182.    Calumny.     L. 

1269  bis.  Tilagnificat. 

12S6.    Adoration  of  Magi. 

1289.    Madonna   and   Angels   ("of    the    Pome- 
granate "). 

1299.    "  Fortezza."     E. 

CORSINI,  2IO.  Portrait  of  Man  with  King. 

Palazzo  Pitti,  Pallas  subduing  a  Centaur. 

Palazzo  Caitoni  (Marchese  Farinola),  Com- 
munion of  St.  Jerome. 

Og.nissanti,  St.  Augustin  (fresco). 
London.         592.    Adoration  of  Magi.     E. 

626.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

915.     Mars  and  Venus. 

1033.  Adoration  of  Magi.     E. 

1034.  Nativity,  1500. 

Mr.  J.    P.    IIksf.lti.nk,    Madonna    and    Infant 

John  (in  part). 
Mr.    LiuwiG    MoNl),  Scenes  from    Life  t>f  S. 
Zanobi  (2  panels).     L. 


I06  WORKS   OF 

Milan.  Ambrosiana,  145.    Madonna  and  Angels. 

Poldi-Pezzoli,  17.    Madonna. 

Paris.  72.    Lorenzo   Tornabuoni   introduced    into   the 

Circle  of  the  Sciences  (fresco). 
73.    Giovanna  Tornabuoni  with  Venus  and  the 
Graces  (fresco). 

Rome.  Vatican,  Sixtine  Chapel,   Frescoes  ;    Moses 

and  the  Daughters  of  Jethro  ;  Destruction 
of  Children  of  Korah  ;  Christ  Tempted  on 
Roof  of  Temple  ;  single  figures  of  Popes. 
1482. 

St.  Petersburg.     163.  Adoration  of  Magi. 

BRONZING  (Angelo  Allori). 

1502  (?)-i572.      Pupil   of   Pontormo  ;    influenced  by  Michel- 
angelo. 

Bergamo.      Morelli,  65.    Portrait  of  Alessandro  dei  Medici. 
Berlin.  337.    Portrait  of  Cosimo  I. 

338.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

338*'.    Portrait  of  Ugolino  Martelli. 

338^.    Portrait  of  Eleonora  da  Toledo. 
Buda  Pesth.     Nativity. 

Venus  and  Cupid. 
Florence.      Pitti,  39.    Holy  Family. 

403.    Portrait  of  Duke  Cosimo  I. 

Uffizi,  154.    Lucrezia  Panciatichi. 

158.  Descent  from  Cross.     1545. 

159.  Bartolommeo  Panciatichi. 

172.    Eleonora  di  Toledo  and  Don  Garzia. 

198.    Portrait  of  Young  Woman. 

1 1 55.    Don  Garzia. 

1 164.    Maria  dei  Medici. 

1 166.    Man  in  Armour. 

1209.    Dead  Christ. 


THE  FLOKEXTIXE   PAIXTERS 


107 


Florence 


Hague. 
London. 


Lucca. 

Oxford. 
Paris. 


Pisa. 
Rome. 


Turin. 
Vienna. 


{Co)i.).  1211.    Allegory  of  Happiness. 
1266.    Portrait  of  Sculptor. 

1271.  Christ  in  Limbo.     1552. 

1272.  Don  Ferdinand. 

1273.  Maria  dei  Medici. 
Miniatures  : 

848.    Don  Garzia. 

852.  Don  Ferdinand. 

853.  Maria  dei  Medici. 

854.  Francesco  dei  Medici. 

855.  Duke  Cosimo. 

857.    Alessandro  dei  Medici. 

Magazine,  Annunciation. 
Falazzo  Vecchio,   Chapel  of  E:.eon(ika  \n 

Toledo,  Frescoes.     1564. 
S.    Lorenzo,    Martyrdom    of     St.     Lawrence 

(fresco). 
3.    Portrait  of  Lady. 
649.    Portrait  of  Boy. 
651.    AUegor)'. 
1323.    Pier  dei  Medici. 
Portrait  of  Don  Ferdinand. 
Portrait  of  Don  Garzia. 
Taylorian,  30.    Portrait  of  Don  Garzia. 

1183.  •' Noli  me  Tangere." 

1184.  Portrait  of  Sculptor. 

PrinCESSE    SagAN,    Two    portraits,     Man     and 

Woman. 
S.  Stefano,  Nativity.      1564. 
BORGHESE,  444-    ^t-  John. 
Colonna,  Venus. 

Madonna,  St.  Anne,  and  Lifant  John. 
DORIA,  Portrait  of  Giannoltino  Doria. 
127.    Portrait  of  Lady. 
96.    Holy  Family. 


io8 


WORKS  OF 


BUGIARDINI. 

1475-15 54.   Pupil  of  Ghirlandaio  and  Pier  di  Cosimo  ;  influ- 
enced by  Albertinelli,  Perugino,  and  Michelangelo. 

Berlin.  142,  149.  Cassone  panels,  Story  of  Tobias. 

283.  Madonna  and  Saints. 

Museum  of  Industrial  Art,  Cassone,  Story  of 
St.  Felicitas. 

Palace   of    Emperor   William   I.,    Cassone, 
Story  of  Tobias. 
Bologna.        St.  John  in  Desert. 

Madonna  enthroned,  with  SS.  Catherine,  Antony 
of  Padua,  and  Infant  John. 

Madonna  (tondo). 
Dijon.  I.  Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

Florence.       Pitti,  140.  Portrait  of  a  Lady. 

Uffizi,  213.  Madonna. 

Bardini  Collection,  Portrait  of  a  Woman. 

S.  Maria  Novella,  Martyrdom  of  St.  Catherine. 
London.         809,  Madonna,  Infant  John,  and  Angels. 
Milan,  S.  Maria  delle  Grazie,  The  Baptist. 

Modena.        334.   Madonna  and  Infant  John. 
Oldenburg.  28.   St.  Sebastian. 
Paris.  1644.  Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

Rome.  Borghese,  443.   Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

CoLONNA,  Madonna. 
Turin.  106.  Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

MUSEO  Civico,  Madonna  and  Infant  John. 
Vienna.  loi.  Rape  of  Dina,  1531. 


ANDREA    DEL  CASTAGNO. 

I3g6(?)-i457.     Influenced  by  Donatello  and  Paolo  Uccello. 

Florence.       S.  Apollonia,  Frescoes :  I^ast  Supper,  Cruci- 
fixion, Entombment,  Resurrection.     9  Figures  : 


THE   FLORENTINE   PAIXTERS 


109 


Florence  (■<•'/.).  Boccaccio,  Petrarch,  Dante, Queen  Thomyris, 
Cumean  Sibyl,  Niccolo  Acciaiuoli,  Farinata 
degli  Uberti,  Filippo  ScolariC  Pippo  Sjiano"), 
Esther. 

Palazzo  Torrigiam,  Portrait  of  Man. 
DuoMO,  Wall  R.  of  Entrance,  Equestrian 

Portrait  of  Niccolo  da  Tolentino,  I45C'- 
S.  Marl\  Nuova,  Crucifixion  (fresco). 

LORENZO  DI  CREDI. 


Bergamo. 
Berlin. 


Carlsruhe. 

Dresden. 

Florence. 


Forll. 
London. 


1459-1537.      Pupil  of  Verrocchio. 

Morf-LLI,  49.    Madonna. 

So.    Bust  of  Young  Woman.     E. 

ICO.   Madonna. 

103.  St.  Mary  of  Egypt. 

409.  Madonna  and  Infant  John  adoring  Child. 

15.   Madonna  and  Saints. 

.Academy,  92.    Adoration  of  Shepherds. 

94.  Nativity. 

Uffizi,  24.    Madonna. 

34.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

iif<o.  Annunciation.     E. 

1311.   "  Noli  me  Tangere." 

131 3.  "  Noli  me  Tangere." 

1314.  Annunciation. 
No  number.  Venus. 
DuoM'^  Sacristy,  St.  Michael. 

S.    DoMKNico   (near   Fiosole)    tst   Altar    R. 

Baptism. 
Marciiese  Pucci,  Portrait  of  l.ady. 
99.   Portrait  of  Lady  (?) 
593.    Madonna. 
648.    Madonna  adoring  Chill. 
Mr.  Charles  Butler,  Madonna. 


no 


WORKS  OF 


Mayence.  105.    Madonna.     E. 

Milan.  Casa  Casatti,  Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

Naples.  Sala  Toscana,  27.    Nativity. 

Oxford.  Taylorian,  26.    Madonna. 

Palermo.  Madonna  dell'  Olivella,  Madonna. 

Paris.  1263.    Madonna  and  two  Saints. 

1264.    "  Noli  me  Tangere." 

Pistoia.  DuoMO,  Madonna  and  Saints.     E. 

Rome.  BoRGHESE,  433.    Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

Strasburg.  Madonna.     E. 

Turin.  356.    Madonna.     E. 

Venice.  Querini-Stampalia,   Sala  III,   4.    Madonna 
and  Infant  John. 

FRANCIABIGIO. 


52-1525.     Pupil  of  Albertinelli  and  Pier  di  Cosimo  ;  influ- 
enced by  Andrea  del  Sarto. 


Berlin. 


Bologna. 
Dresden. 
Florence. 


235.    Portrait  of  Man. 

245.    Portrait  of  Youth,  1522. 

245-*^.    Bust  of  Man. 

294.    Madonna. 

75.    Bathsheba,  1523. 

Academy,  96.    Madonna  and  Saints.     E. 

PiTTi,  43.    Portrait  of  Man,  15 14. 

427.    Calumny.     E. 

Uffizi,  92.    Madonna  and  Infant  John, 

1223.  Temple  of  Hercules. 

1224.  Holy  Family  and  Infant  John. 
1264.    Madonna  with  Job  and  Baptist.     E. 
Chiostro   dello    Scalzo,    Frescoes  :    Baptist 

leaving  his  Parents,  15 18. 
Meeting  of  Christ  and  Baptist. 
SS.  Annunziata,  Entrance  Court  R.,  Sposa- 

lizio  (fresco),  1513. 


THE  FLORENTINE  PAINTERS  I  I  I 

Florence  {Con.).  La  Calza,  Last  Supper  (fresco). 

Caserma  ni  RR.    Carabinieri.     Last  Supper 
and  other  frescoes. 
Hamburg.     Consul  Weber,  io6.    Bust  of  Young  Man. 
London.         1035.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

Mr.  Robert  Benso.n,  Apollo  and  Daphne. 
Naples.  SAtA   Grande,     21.     Portrait    of    Card.    Bib- 

biena  (?), 
Nimes.  132,  269,  270.  Small  tondi. 

Poggio  a  Caiano.     Triumph  of  Cicero  (fresco.) 
Rome.  Borchese,  177.    Marriage  of  St.  Catherine. 

336.    Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

Venus. 

CORSINI,  Sal.a.  Ill,  9.    Madonna,  1509. 

15.    Madonna. 
Turin.  121.    Annunciation. 

Vienna.         413.    Holy  Family. 
Wiesbaden.     118.    Cassone  picture. 
Windsor.       Portrait  of  Man. 

RAFFAELINO  DEL  GARBO. 

1466-1524.     Pupil  of  Botticelli  and  Filippino  ;  influenced  by 
Ghirlandaio  and  Perugino. 

Berlin.  78.    Bust  of  Man, 

8 1 .    Profile  of  Young  Woman. 

go.    Madonna  and  Angels. 
Florence.      Academy,  90.    Resurrection. 
London.        Mr.  Robert  Benson.     Madonna  and  .\ngels. 
Lyons.  51.  Bust  of  Young  Man.  (?) 

Munich.         ioo<j.    Pieti. 
Naples.  Scuoi.A    Romana,     15.    Madonna    and    Infant 

John. 
Parma.  56.    Matloiina  giving  Girdle  to  .St.  Thomas. 

Venice.  Lady  Lavaku,  Portrait  of  Lorenzo  dei  .Mcilici. 


112  WORKS  OF 

DOMENICO   GHIRLANDAIO. 

1449-1494.      Pupil  of  Alessio  Baldov'inetti. 

Florence.      Academy,  66.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

67.    Predella  to  above. 

195.    Adoration  of  Shepherds,  14S5, 

256.    Annunciation  (predella). 

Uffizi,  1 163.    Portrait  of  Perugino. 

1295.    Adoration  of  Magi,  1487. 

1297.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 

Palazzo  Vecchio,  Flag  Room,  Triumph  of 
S.  Zanobi  ;  Roman  Warriors  (frescoes), 
begun  1481,  finished  1485. 

MusEO  S.  Marco,  Small  Refectory,  Last 
Supper  (fresco). 

Innocenti,  Altar-piece,  Adoration  of  Magi, 
1488. 

S.  Maria  Novella,  Choir,  Frescoes:  Lives 
of  Virgin  and  the  Baptist ;  The  four  Evan- 
gelists.    Begini  i486,  finished  1490. 

Ognissanti,  St.  Augustin  (fresco),  1480. 

Refectory,  Last  Supper  (fresco),  1480. 

S.  Trinita,  Chapel  R.  of  Choir,  Frescoes  : 
Life  of  St.  Francis,  1485. 
S.  Gemigniano.     Duomo,  Chapel  of  Santa  Fina,  Fres- 
coes :  Life  of  the  Saints,  1482. 
Chapel    of     S.     Giovanni,     Annunciation 
(fresco),   1482. 
London.         1299.    Portrait  of  Vouth  (repainted). 

Portrait  of  Woman  (lent  by  Mr.  Willett). 

Mr.  Robert  Benson,  Francesco  Sassetti  and 
his  Son. 

Mr.   George  Salting,    Madonna  and  Infant 
John. 
Lucca.  Duomo,    Sacristry,     Madonna    and    Saints  ; 

Lunette  and  Predella. 


THE   rr.ORENTIXK   PAIXTERS  II3 

Narni.  Municipio,  Coronation. 

Paris.  1321.    Visitation  (in  part). 

1322.    Old  Man  and  Boy. 
Pisa.  Saia  VI,  21.    SS.  Sebastian  and  Roch. 

S.  Anna,  Madonna  and  Saints. 
Rimini.  Three  Saints.     Top  with  God  the  Father.     Pre- 

della. 
Rome.  Vatican,  Sixtine  Chapel,    Calling  of   Peter 

and  Andrew  (fresco),  1482. 
Volterra.       Municipio,    Christ   in    Glory    adored   by   two 

Saints. 

RIDOLFO  GHIRLANDAIO. 

14S3-1561.     Pupil  of  Granacci,  and  eclectic  imitator  of  most 
of  his  important  contemporaries. 

Berlin.  qi.    Nativity. 

Buda  Pesth.     Nativity,  1510. 

Florence.      Academy,    83,    87.    Panels   with   three   Angels 
each.      IC. 

PiTTi,  207.    Portrait  of  a  Goldsmith. 

224.    Portrait  of  a  Lady,  1509. 

Uffizi,     1275,     1277.    Miracles  of   S.    Zanobi, 
1510. 

Palazzo  Vecchio,  Chapel  of  St.  Bernard, 
Frescoes,  15 14. 

Bigallo,  Predelle,  1515. 

CoRSiNi,  149.    Portrait  of  Man. 

Palazzo  Torrigiani,  Portrait  of  Old  Man. 

Portrait  of  Ardinghelli. 

S.  Maria  oegli  Angiuli,  Last  Supper,  1543. 

La  Quiete,  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine. 

St.  Sebastian. 
London.         1 143.    Procession  to  Calvary.     E. 
Lucca.  S.  Fkediano,  Wall  L.  of  Entrance,  Visita- 

tion (fresco). 


114 


WORKS  OF 


Paris.  1324.    Coronation,  1504. 

Pistoia.  S.  PiETRO  Maggiore,  Madonna  and  Saints. 

Prato.  DuoMO,  Madonna  giving  Girdle  to  St.  Thomas, 

1514- 
Reigate.       The  Priory,  Portrait  of  Old  Man. 
St.  Petersburg.     Nativity. 

GIOTTO. 

Formed  under  the  influence  of  Giovanni  Pisano. 


1276-1336 
Assisi. 


Bologna. 
Brighton. 

Florence. 


Munich. 


Padua. 


Paris. 


Lower  Church,  over  Tomb  of  St.  Francis, 

Four  Allegorical  Frescoes.     E. 
R,   Transept,  Lives  of  Christ  and  Virgin  (in 

part).     E. 
Chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  Egypt,  Frescoes  (?).  E. 
Polyptych. 
Mr.  Henry  Willett,  Presentation  in  Temple. 

E. 
Academy,     103.     Madonna     Enthroned     and 

Angels. 
S.  Crock,  Bardi  Chapel,  Frescoes :   Life  of 

St.  Francis. 
Peruzzi  Chapel,  Frescoes  :  Lives  of  the  Baptist 

and  St.  John  the  Evangelist. 

979.  Small  Panel  :  Madonna  ;  Washing  of 
Feet ;    Last  Judgment.     E. 

980.  Small  Panel  :  Crucifixion  ;  Flagellation  ; 
Christ  Bearing  Cross  ;  St.  Francis  Receiv- 
ing Stigmata.     E. 

g8l.    Crucifixion  (in  part). 

983,    Last  Supper. 

Arena    Chapel,    Frescoes  :     Lives   of   Christ 

and   Virgin  ;    Last  Judgment  ;    Symbolical 

Figures. 
131 2.    St.     Francis    receiving    Stigmata.      Pre- 

deUa. 


THE   FLOREXTIXE   PAIXTERS 


115 


Rome.  St.  John  Latf.ran,   Pillar  R.   Aisle,  Boni- 

f.ice  VIII.    rroclaiming  the  Jubilee  (fresco), 
1300. 
Vatican,     Sagrestia    dei    Canonici,     Ste- 
faneschi    rdyptych.     E. 

FRANCESCO  GRANACCI. 

1469-1543.     Pupil  of  Ghirlandaio  ;  influenced   by   Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo  and  Pontonno. 

Berlin.  83.    Madonna  and  Four  Saints  (in  part). 

97.    Madonna     with     Baptist     and     Archangel 
Michael.     E. 

229.    Trinity. 
Florence.      Academy,  68.    Assumption. 

2S5-290.    Stories  of  Saints.     L. 

PiTTi,  345.     Holy  Family. 

Uffizi,  1249,  12S2.    Life  of  Joseph.     L. 

1280.    Madonna  giving  Girdle  to  St.  Thomas. 
London.        Lord  Ashburnham,  Two  Panels  with  Life  of 

the  Baptist.     E. 
Munich.  1035.    Holy  Family. 

1061-1064.    Panels  with  Saint  in  each.     L. 
Oxford.         Christ  Church,  St.  Francis. 

Taylorian,  23.    St.  Antony  of  Padua  and  an 
Angel. 
Panshanger.     Portrait  of  Lady. 


LEONARDO    DA  VINCI. 
1452-1519.     Pupil  of  Verrocchio. 

Florence.  Ufkizi,  1252.  Adoration  of  Magi  (unfinished), 
begun  in  1478. 

London.  Burlinc^ton  IIousi;,  Diiioma  (Iai.lery,  Car- 
toon fur  a  MadDuna  with  St.  Anna. 


ii6 


WORKS  OF 


Milan. 
Paris. 


Rome. 


S.  Maria  dellA  Grazie,  Last  Supper  (fresco). 
1265.    Annunciation.     E. 

1598.  Madonna,  Child  and  St.  Anna  (in  part). 

1599.  "  I.a  Vierge  aux  Rochers." 
1601.    "  La  Gioconda." 
Vatican,  St.  Jerome  (unfinished). 

Donna  Laura  Minghetti,  Profile  of  Girl  (not 
quite  finished).     E. 


SCULPTURE. 

Lille.  Bust  of  a  Girl  (wax)  (?) 

Note  :  An  adequate  conception  of  Leonardo  as  an  artist  can 
only  be  obtained  by  an  acquaintance  with  his  drawings,  many 
of  the  best  of  which  are  reproduced  in  Dr.  J.  P.  Richter's 
"  Literary  Works  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci." 


FILIPPINO  LIPPI. 

1457-1504.     Pupil  of  Botticelli. 

Berlin.  78^.   Allegory  of  Music.     L. 

96.    Crucifixion.     L. 

loi.  Madonna. 
Bologna.       S.  Domenico,  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine,  1501. 
Florence.      Academy,  89.    St.  Mary  of  Egypt. 

93.    The  Baptist. 

98.    Deposition  (finished  by  Perugino). 

PiTTi,  336.    Allegorical  Subject. 

Uffizi,  286.    Portrait  of  Self  (fresco). 

1 167.    Old  Man  (fresco). 

1257.    Adoration  of  Magi,  1496. 

1268.    Madonna  and  Saints,  1485. 

Palazzo  Torrigiani,  Bust  of  Youth. 

Badia,  Vision  of  St,  Bernard,  1480. 


THE   FLORENTINE  PAINTERS 


I  ] 


Florence  {Con.').  Carmine,  Brancacci  Chapel,  Completion 
of  Masaccio's  frescoes,  14S4  :  Angel  Deliv- 
ering Peter  ;  Paul  Visiting  Peter  ;  Peter  and 
Paul  before  the  Proconsul  ;  Martyrdom  of 
Peter ;  in  the  Raising  of  the  King's  Son, 
the  group  L.,  the  boy,  and  eight  men  in  a 
row. 

S.  Maria  Novella,  Strozzi  Chapel,  Frescoes, 
finished  1502  :  Episodes  from  Lives  of  St. 
John  the  Evangelist  and  St.  Philip. 

Santo  Spirito,  Madonna  and  Saints  with  Tanai 
di  Nerli  and  his  wife. 

S.  Teodoro,  Madonna  and  Saints,  1503. 

293.    Madonna  with  SS.  Jerome  and  Dominic. 

927.    Angel  Adoring. 

Lord  Ashburnham,  Two  small  panels  with 
two  Bishops  each. 

S.  Michele,  SS.  Helena.  Jerome,  Sebastian, 
and  Roch. 

Christ  Church,  Centaur. 

1663.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

16.  Madonna  with  the  Baptist  and  St.  Stephen. 
Fresco  in  Tai:ernacle  on  Street  Corner, 

Madonna  and  Saints,  149S. 

S.  Maria  sopra  Minerva,  Caraffa  Chapel, 
Altar-piece,  Annunciation.  Frescoes  : 
Triumph  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  :  Assump- 
tion, 1489. 

Se-MINARIo,  15.    Christ  and  the  Samaritan. 

17.  "  Noli  me  Tangere." 


Genoa, 

London 


Lucca. 

Oxford 

Paris. 

Prato. 


Rome. 


Venice. 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


1406-1463.      Pupil    of    Lorenzo    Monaco    and     follower    of 

Masaccio  ;  influenced  by  Fra  Angelico. 
Berlin.  58.    .Madonna. 


ii8 


WORK'S  OF 


Berlin  {Con.).  69.  Madonna  adoring  Child. 

95.    "  Madonna  della  Misericordia." 
Florence.      Academy,  55.    Madonna  and  Saints.     E. 

62.    Coronation,  1541. 

79.    Madonna  adoring  Child.     E. 

82.    Nativity.     E. 

86.    Predella. 

263.  Archangel  Gabriel  and  the  Baptist. 

264.  Madonna  and  St.  Antony. 
PiTTI,  338.    Madonna. 
Uffizi,  1307.    Madonna. 

Palazzo  Alessandri,  St.  Laurence,  Saints,  and 

Donors. 
S.  Lorenzo,  Martelli  Chapel.    Annunciation 

and  Predella. 
St.  Antony,  Abbot  and  Bishop. 
London.         248.    Vision  of  St.  Bernard,  1447. 

666.  Annunciation.     E. 

667.  Seven  Saints.     E. 
Munich.         1005.    Annunciation.     E. 

1006.    Madonna. 
Oxford.  Taylorian,  12.    Meeting  of  Joachim  and  Anna 

(predella). 
Paris.  1344-    Madonna  and  Angels,  1437. 

Prato.  DuoMO,    Choir,    Frescoes  :    Lives  of   Stephen 

and  the  Baptist,  1452-1464. 
Richmond.   Sir  Francis  Cook,  Adoration  of  Magi  (tondo). 
E. 

Archangel  Michael  and  St.  Antony. 
Rome.  Lateran,   Triptych  :    Coronation,   Saints,   and 

Donors.     E. 
Palazzo  Doria,  Annunciation. 
Mr.  Ludwig  Mond,  Annunciation  and  Donors. 
Spoleto.        DuoMO,  Choir,  Frescoes :  Life  of  Virgin,  left 

unfinished  at  death. 
Turin.  Academy,  140,  141.    The  four  Church  Fathers. 


THE   FLOKEXTIXE   PAINTERS  II9 

LORENZO  MONACO. 

Worked  about  1 370-1425.      Follower  of  Agnolo  Gaddi  and 

the  Sienese. 
Altenburg.    Flight  into  Eg)'pt.     E. 
Bergamo.      Morelli,  id.    Dead  Christ. 
Berlin.  119.    Madonna   with  Baptist  and  St.  Nicholas. 

E. 
Raczynski  Collection,  Nazional  Galerie, 

42.    Adoration  of  Magi. 
Kaufmann  Collection,  St.  Jerome. 
Brunswick.     3,  4.    Panels  with  two  Saints  in  each  (?). 
Empoli.         Opera  del  Duomo,  5.    Madonna,  1404. 
Florence.      Academy,  143.    Annunciation. 

144.  Life  of  St.  Onofrio. 

145.  Nativity. 

146.  Life  of  St.  Martin. 

166.    Three    pinnacles    above    Fra     Angelico's 

Deposition. 
Uffizi,   39.    Adoration  of  Magi  (Annunciation 

and  Prophets  in  frame  by  Cosimo  Rosselli). 

40.  Pieta,  1404. 

41.  Triptych,  1410. 
1309.    Coronation,  1413. 

Magazine,  Three  panels  :  Crucifixion,  Mary, 
and  John. 
Biblioteca  Laurenziana,  Miniatures. 
S.  TrinitA,  Bartolini  Chapel,  Altar-piece  : 
Annunciation  and  I'redella.    Frescoes  :  Life 
of  Virgin. 
Frankfort.    5'^.    Salvator  Mundi. 

Munich.         Lotzbeck   Collection,    96.     St.     Peter    En- 
throned. 
Paris.  Cluny,    1667.      Agony    in    (Jardcn,     Mary    :K 

Tomb,  1408. 
Prato.  3.    Triptych:    .Madunna  and  Saints.      E. 

9 


I20 


WORKS  OF 


BASTIANO  MAINARDI. 
P-I5I3,     Pupil  and  imitator  of  his  brother-in-law,  Domenico 

Ghirlandaio. 
Altenburg.    Bust  of  Woman. 
Berlin.  21.   Judith,  1489. 

68.    Altar-piece.     E. 

77.    Madonna. 

83.    Portrait  of  Young  Woman. 

85.  Portrait  of  Cardinal. 

86.  Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

Hainauer  Collection,  Portrait  of  Young  Man. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A.     Mr.  J.  Quincy  Shaw,  Madonna  adoring 

Child. 
Florence.      Uffizi,    1315.    St.    Peter   Martyr  between  SS. 
James  and  Peter. 
Bargello  Chapel,  Madonna  and  Angels  (fres- 
co), 1490. 
Palazzo  Torrigiani,  Madonna  and  two  Angels 

(tondo). 
S.  Croce,  Baroncelli  Chapel,  Virgin  giving 
Girdle  to  St.  Thomas. 
San  Gemigniano.     Municipio,  8,  g.    Madonnas  (tondi). 

S.  Agostino,  R.  Wall,  Nicholas  of  Bari,  St. 

Lucy,  St.  Augustin. 
Ceiling,  Frescoes,  the  four  Church  Fathers. 
L.  Wall,    Tomb    of    Fra   Domenico    Strambi 

(frescoes),  1487. 
DuoMO,  Choir,  Madonna  in  Glory  and  Saints. 
Chapel  of  S.  Fina,  Ceiling  frescoes. 
Monte  Oliveto,  Chapel  R.,  Madonna  with 

SS.  Bernard  and  Jerome,  1502. 
Via  S.  Giovanni,  Madonna  and  Cherubs  (fresco). 
Hamburg.     Consul  Weber,  30.    Madonna. 
London.         1230.    Bust  of  Young  Vv'oman. 
Milan.  Signor   Crespi,    Two   panels    with    men    and 

women  worshippers. 


THE   FLOKEXTINE   PAIXTERS  121 

Munich.  1014.    Madonna  and  Donor. 

1015.    Two  Saints. 
Miinster   (in   \V.).      Kunstverein,    32.     Marriage   of    St. 

Catherine. 
Oxford.  Taylorian,  21.    SS.  Bartholomew  and  Julian. 

Paris.  1367.    Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

M.  (}.  Dreyfi's,  rrofile  of  Young  Woman. 

MASACCIO. 

1401-1428.     Pupil  of  Masolino  ;  influenced  by  Donalello. 

Berlin.  5S\    Adoration  of  Magi. 

58^.    Martyrdom  of  St.  Peter  and  the  Baptist. 

58C.    A  Birth  Plate.     E.     (?) 
Florence.       Acaukmy,  73.    Madonna,  Child,  and  St.  Anne. 
E. 

Carmine,  Brancacci  Chapel,  I'rescoes:  Ex- 
pulsion from  Paradise  ;  Tribute  Money  ;  SS. 
Peter  and  John  healing  the  sick  with  their 
Shadows :  St.  Peter  Baptising  ;  SS.  Peter 
and  John  distributing  Alms  ;  in  the  Raising 
of  the  King's  Son,  Middle  Group  and  part 
of  St.  Peter,  and  scene  to  R.,  St.  Peter  En- 
throned. 

S.  Maria  Novella,  Wall  R.  of  Entrance, 
Trinity,  Madonna,  and  St,  John,  and  two 
Donors  (fresco). 

MASOLINO. 

1384-after  1435. 

Bremen.         Kunsthallk,  164.    Madonna,  1423. 
Castiglione  D'Olona.     Ciilrch,  Frescoes  :    life  of  \'irgin. 

Sackisiy,  Annunciation. 

BAl'TibiEkY,  Trcscocs:  Life  of  llaplisi,  1428. 


122 


WORKS  OF 


Florence.      Carmine,     Brancacci      Chapel,      Frescoes : 

PreacMng  and  St.  Peter,  Healing  of  Tabitha, 

Fall  of  Adam  and  Eve. 
Munich.         1019.    Madonna  and  Angels. 
Naples.  ScuoLA  Toscana,  25.    Madonna  and  Christ  in 

Glory. 
34.    Founding  of  S.  Maria  Maggiore. 
Rome.  S.  Clemente,  Frescoes,  Episodes  from  Lives  of 

SS.  Clement  and  Catherine  of  Alexandria. 

MICHELANGELO  BUONARROTL 

1474-1564.     Pupil   of   Ghirlandaio  ;   influenced   by  works  of 
Jacopo  della  Querela,  Donatello,  and  Signorelli. 

Florence.  Uffizi,  1139.  Holy  Family. 
London.  790.  Deposition  (unfinished). 
Rome.  Vatican,  Sixtine  Chapel,  Frescoes :  Ceiling, 

1508-1512  ;  E.  Wall,  Last  Judgment,  1534- 

1541. 
Cappella  Paolina,  Frescoes  :  Conversion  of 
Paul,  Martyrdom  of  Peter.    L. 


SCULPTURE. 

Bologna.       S.  Domenico,  S.  Petronio  ;  Angel  (for  Ark  of  St. 

Dominic),  1494. 
Bruges.  S.    Bavon,    Madonna,   finished   before   August, 

1506. 
Florence.      Academy,  David,  1504. 
Court,  St.  Matthew. 
Bargello,  Bacchus.     E. 
Brutus. 

Madonna  (relief). 
Apollo. 

BoBOLi    Gardens,    Grotto,   Four  unfinished 
figures. 


THE  FLORENTIXE  PALYTERS  1 23 

Florence  {Con.).  Casa     Buonarroti,' Centaurs  and  Lapithx 
(relief).     E. 
DuoMo,  Ukhino  Hic.ii  Altar,  Pieta.     L. 
S.  Lorenzo,  New  Sacristy,  Tombs  of  Lorenzo 
dei  Medici,  Duke  of  Urbino,  and  Giuliano, 
Due  de  Nemours,  left  unfinished,  1534. 
London.        Burlington  House,  Diploma  Gallery,  Ma- 
donna (relief). 
S.  Kensington  Museum,  Cupid.     E. 
Paris.  Room  ok  Renaissance  Sculpture,  Two  Slaves. 

Rome.  S.  Maria  sopra  Minerva,  Christ  with  Cross, 

finished,  1521. 
St.  Peter's,  Pieta,  1499. 
S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  Moses,  Rachel,  and  Leah. 

ANDREA  ORCAGNA. 

l3oS(?)-i368.      Pupil  of  Andrea  Pisano  ;  follower  of  Giotto; 
influenced  by  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti  of  Siena. 

Florence.      S.  ^L\RIA  Novella,  L.  Transept,  Altar-piece, 
1357  ;  Frescoes :  Paradise,  Last  Judgment. 

SCULPTURE. 
Florence.      Or  San  Michele,  Tabernacle,  finished,  1359. 

FRANCESCO  PESELLINO. 

1422-1457.       Pupil    possibly    of    his    grandfather,    Giuliano 
Pcsello  ;  follower  of  Era  Filippo  Lippi  and  Masaccio. 

Bergamo.      Mokelli,    9.     Elorentine    arraigned    before    a 
Judge. 
IL  Story  of  Grisclda. 
36.   SS.  Jerome  and  Eraiicib.      E. 


124 


WORKS  OF 


Florence.      Academy,  72.     Three  predelle. 

Casa  Buonarroti,  Life  of  St.  Nicholas  of  Bari. 

E. 
Palazzo  Torrigiani,  Life  of  David  (two  cassone 

pictures). 
London.         Captain  Halford,  Madonna  and  Saints. 
Montpellier.     619.  Nativity  and  Adoration.     E. 
Paris.  1414.     Miracle  of  SS.  Cosmas  and  Damian  ;  St. 

Francis  receiving  Stigmata. 
Rome.  Palazzo  Doria.      Pope  Sylvester  before  Con- 

stantine  ;  Pope  Sylvester  subduing  Dragon. 


PIER  DI  COSIMO. 

1462-1521.     Pupil  of  Cosimo  Rosselli  ;  influenced  by  Signor- 
elli,  Filippino,  and  Leonardo. 

Berlin.  107.  Venus,  Cupid,  and  Mars. 

204.  Adoration  of  Shepherds. 
Chantilly.     "  La  Bella  Simonetta." 
Dresden.        20.   Holy  Family  and  Angels. 
Dulwich.        Head  of  Youth, 
Florence.      Uffizi,  81.  Immaculate  Conception. 

82,  83,  84.  Story  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda. 

1312.   Rescue  of  Andromeda. 

Spedale   degli  Innocenti,  Holy  Family  and 
Saints. 

Palazzo  Pucci,  Madonna  and  Angels. 
Hague.  254,  255.  Giuliano  di  Sangallo  and  his  Father. 

London.         6g8.   Death  of  Procris. 

895.  Portrait  of  Man  in  Armour. 

Mr.  Robert  Benson,  Hylas  and  the  Nymphs. 

Mr.   John   Burke,    Combat   of    Centaurs  and 
Lapithse. 

Col.  Cornvvallis  West,  Visitation. 
Marseilles.  335,  336.  Story  of  Theseus  and  Ariadne. 
Milan.  Borommeo,  Sala  Centrale,  ig.  Madonna.   L. 


71IE   FLORENTINE   PAINTERS  12$ 

Paris.  1274.    The  Young  Baptist. 

1416.    Coronation.      L. 

152S.    Madonna. 
Rome.  BORGHKSE,  329.    Judgment  of  Solomon. 

343.    Madonna  and  Angels  adoring  Child. 

Sen.  Giovanni  Baracco,  Magdalen. 
Vienna.  Harrach     Collection,     Holy     Family     and 

Angels.     L. 

Lichtenstein  Gallery,  Madonna.     L. 

THE  POLLAIUOLI. 

ANTONIO:     1429-1493.       Tupil    of    Donatello    and    Paolo 

Uccello,  Sculptor. 
PIERO  :   1443-1496.     Pupil  of  Baldovinetti  ;  worked  mainly 

on  his  brother's  designs. 
(Where  the  execution  can  be   clearly  distinguished  as  of 
either  of  the  brothers  separately,  the  fact  is  indicated.) 

Berlin.  73.    Annunciation  (Piero). 

73"^.    David  (Antonio). 

Hainauer  Collection,  Portrait  of  Lady  (An- 
tonio). 
Florence.      Uffizi,  30.    Galeazzo  Sforza. 

73.    Cartoon  for  "  Charity,"  on  back  of  picture. 
1153.    Hercules  and  the  Hydra;  Hercules  and 

Antoeus  (Antonio). 
1301.    SS.  Eustace,  James,  and  Vincent  (Piero). 
1306.    Prudence. 

3353.   Miniature  Profile  of  Lady  (Piero). 
San    Gemigniano.       DuoMo,    Choir,    Coronation,     1483 

(Piero). 
London.         292.    St.  Sebastian,  1472  (Antonio). 
923.    Apollo  and  Daphne  (Antonio). 
New  York.   MKTRoroLiTAN    Mlskum,   85,    St.   Christopher 

(fresco)  (I'iero). 
Turm.  97.    Tobias  and  the  Angel. 


126  WORKS  OF 

SCULPTURE,  ETC. 
Boston,   U.   S.   A.      Mr.   J.    Quincy  Shaw,  Warrior  in 

Breastplate  (?)  (terra-cotta). 
Florence.      Bargello,  Bust  of  Young  Warrior  (terra-cotta). 
Hercules  and  Antaeus  (bronze). 
Opera  del  Duomo,  Birth  of  Baptist  (relief  in 

silver). 
Twenty-seven  scenes  from  Life  of  Baptist  (em- 
broideries after  Antonio's  designs),  1470. 
Forll.  Bust  of  Pino  Ordelaffi  (?). 

Rome.  St.  Peter's,  Chapel  of  Sacrament,  Tomb  of 

Sixtus  IV,  1483  (bronze). 
L.  Aisle,  Tomb  of  Innocent  VIII  (bronze). 
L. 

PONTORMO  (Jacopo  Carrucci). 

1494-15 56.     Pupil  of  Andrea  del  Sarto  ;  influenced  by  Michel- 
angelo. 

Bergamo.      Morelli,  59.    Portrait  of  Baccio  Bandinelli. 
Berlin.  239.    Portrait  of  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

Borgo  San  Sepolcro.     Municipio,  St.  Quintin  in  the  Pil- 
lory (in  part). 
Florence.      Academy,  183.    Pieta.     L. 

190.    Supper  at  Emmaus,  1528. 

Pitti,  149.    Portrait  of  Man  with  Dog. 

182.    Martyrdom  of  forty  Saints. 

233.    St.  Antony.     L. 

249.    Portrait  of  Man. 

379.    Adoration  of  Magi. 

Uffizi,  1177.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

1 187.    Martyrdom  of  S.  Maurizio. 

1 198.    Birth  of  St.  John  (plate). 

1220.    Portrait  of  Man. 

1267.    Cosimo  dei  Medici. 

1270.   Cosimo  I,  Duke  of  Florence. 


THE   FLORENTIXE   PAIXTEKS  12/ 

Florence  (Ct'w.).  1284.    Venus  and  Cupid  (?). 

CoRSiNi,  141.    Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

185.    Madonna  and  Infant  John. 

SS.    Annunziata,     Cloister     R.,     Visitation 
(fresco),   1 516. 
Cappella  di  S.  Luca,  Madonna  and  Saints 
(fresco). 

S.  FelicitA,  Altar-piece  :  Deposition  ;  three  me- 
dallions of  Prophets  ;  Annunciation  (fresco). 

COLLEGio  Militare,  Frescoes  in  Pope's  Chapel, 

1513. 
Certosa  (near  Florence),  Cloister,  Christ  be- 
fore Pilate  (frescoes),  1523. 
Frankfort.     14'^.    Portrait  of  Lady  with  Dog. 
Genoa.  Brignole-Sale,  Portrait  of  Youth. 

London.         1131.    Joseph  and  his  Kindred  in  Egypt.     E. 
Lucca.  Sala  I,  5.    Portrait  of  Youth. 

Oldenburg,   ig.    Portrait  of  Lady. 
Panshanger,     Two  panels  with  story  of  Joseph.     E. 

Portrait  of  Young  Man. 
Paris.  1240.    Holy  Family  and  Saints,  1543. 

1241.    Portrait  of  Sculptor. 
Poggio  a  Caiano.     Decorative  fresco  around  window  :  Ver- 
tumnus,  Pomona,  Diana,  and  other  figures, 
1521. 
Pontormo    (near    Empoli).     Church,    St.    John    the  Evan- 
gelist and  St.  Michael. 
Rome.  IJARBERINI,  Pygmalion  and  Galatea. 

Borghese,  408.    Portrait  of  a  Cardinal. 

COSIMO  ROSSELLI. 

1439-1507.     Pupil  of  Neri  di  Bicci  ;  influenced  by    Henozzo 

and  Baldovinetti. 
Berlin.  59.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 

59*.    Glory  of  St.  Anne,  1471. 

71.    Entombment. 


128 


WORKS  OF 


Cologne.        730^.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  the  Innocents.    E. 
Dusseldorf.  Academy,  iio.    Madonna  adoring  Child  (?). 
Florence.      Academy,    52,    SS.   Barbara,   John,    and    Mat- 
thew.    E. 
Uffizi,  63.    Coronation. 
65.    Adoration  of  Magi. 
1280  bis.    Madonna,  Saints,  and  Angels. 
CORSINI,    339.     Madonna   and    Angels   adoring 

Child. 
Gallery  of  S.  Maria  Nuova,  65.    Madonna. 
S.  Ambrogio,  3D  Altar,  L.    Assumption   and 
predella. 
Chapel  of  Sacrament,  Miraculous  Chalice, 
and  other  frescoes,  i486. 
SS.   Annunziata,    L.    Cloister,    S.    Filippo 

Benizzi  taking  Servite  habit  (fresco). 
S.  Maria  Maddalena  dei  Pazzi,  Altar-piece : 
Coronation.     L. 
London.        Mr.  Charles  Butler,  Madonna,  Saints,  and 

Nuns. 
Lucca.  DuoMO,  Wall  L.  of  Entrance,  Story  of  the 

Cross  (fresco). 
Miinster   (in  W.).     Kunstverein,   33.    Madonna  with  Ga- 
briel and  Infant  John. 
Oxford.  Taylorian,  19.    SS.  Dominic  and  Nicholas. 

Rome.  Vatican,  Sixtine  Chapel,  Frescoes  :  Destruc- 

tion    of   Pharaoh,    Christ    preaching    from 
the  Lake,  Last  Supper,  1482. 
Mr.    Ludwig    Mond,    Madonna    and    Angel 
adoring  Child. 

ROSSO. 

1494-1541.     Pupil  of  Andrea  del  Sarto  ;  influenced  by  Pon- 
tormo  and  Michelangelo. 


Borgo  San  Sepolcro.     Orfanelle,  Dep 


losition. 


THE   FLOREXTIXE   PAIXTERS  I  29 

Citta  di  Castello.     22.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

DvoMO,  Transfiguration,  finished  1530. 
Florence.      Pitti,  113.    Three  Fates. 

237.    Madonna  and  Saints. 

Uffizi,  1241.    Angel  playing  Guitar. 

Bargello,    Deli.a     Robuia     Room,     Justice 
(fresco). 

Gallery  of  S.   Maria  Nuova,  Madonna  and 
four  Saints. 

SS.    Anm-nziata,   R.   Cloister.     Assumption 
(fresco). 

S.  Lorenzo,  Altar-piece.     Sposalizio. 
Frankfort.    14.    Madonna. 
Paris.  1435-    I'iet.'i. 

14S6.    Defiance  of  the  I'ierides. 
Siena.  Sala  XI,  19.    Portrait  of  Young  Man. 

Venice.  Profile  bust  of  Man  in  red  cloak  and  hat. 

Volterra.       Duq.mo,  Cappella  di  S.  Carlo,  Deposition. 


PAOLO    UCCELLO. 

1 397-1475.   Influenced  by  Domenico  Veneziano  and  Donatello. 

Florence.      Uffizi,  52.    Battle. 

DcoMo,  Wall  above  Entrance,  Four  Heads 
of  Prophets  (fresco). 
Wall  L.  ok  Entrance,  Equestrian  Portrait 
of  Sir  John  Ilavvkwood,  1437. 
S.  Maria  Novella,  Cloister,  Frescoes :  The 
Flood,  Sacrifice  of  Noah. 
London.        583.    Battle  of  S.  Egidio. 

585.    Portrait  of  Lady. 
New  York.  Metropolitan  Museum,  Marquand  Collkc- 

TloN,  Portrait  of  Lady  (?). 
Oxford.  Tavi.<jrian,  2S.    Midnight  Hunt. 


130  WORKS  OF 

Paris.  1272.    Portraits  of  Giotto,   Uccello,  Donatello, 

Brunelleschi,  and  Giovanni  Manetti. 
1273.    Battle. 
Urbino.  23.    Story  of  the  Jew  and  the  Host,  1468. 


DOMENICO  VENEZIANO. 

About  1400-1461.     Probably  acquired  his  rudiments  at  Venice ; 
formed  under  the  influence  of  Donatello  and  Masaccio. 


Berlin. 
Florence. 


London. 


Munich. 


64.    Martyrdom  of  St.  Lucy, 

PiTTi,  370.    Head  of  a  Saint,     L. 

375.    Portrait  of  Man.     L. 

Uffizi,  1305.    Madonna  and  four  Saints. 

S.  Crock,  R.  Wall,    Baptist   and   St.  Francis 
(fresco).     L. 

766,  767.    Heads  of  Monks  (frescoes). 

1215.    Madonna   Enthroned   (fresco    trans- 
ferred to  canvas). 

997,    Bust  of  Young  Man. 


ANDREA  VERROCCHIO. 

1435-1488,     Pupil  of  Donatello  and  Alessio  Baldovinetti. 

Berlin.  104^.   Madonna  and  Angel.     E. 

Profile  of  Young  Woman  on  blue  ground.  (?)    E. 
Florence.      Academy,  Baptism  (in  part). 

Uffizi,  1204.     Profile  of  Lady.  (?) 

1288.    Annunciation. 
London.         276.    Madonna  and  two  Angels  (?).     E. 
Milan.  Poldi-Pezzoli,  21.   Profile  of  Young  Woman  (?). 

E. 
Vienna.         Lichtenstein  Gallery,  Portrait  of  Lady. 


THE  FLOREyriXE    PAIXTERS 


\\l 


SCULPTURE. 

Berlin,  93.    Sleeping  Youth.       \ 

97^.    Entombment.  |- All  terr.i-cotta. 

97".    Sleeping /"«//(;.      ) 
Boston,   U.S.A.     Mr.    J.    Quincv    Shaw,    Madonna   and 

Angels  (relief).    (?). 
Florence.      Bargello,  David,  1476  (bronze). 
Bust  of  Woman. 
Oi'ERA    DEL    DuoMO,    Salome    with    Head   of 

Baptist  (silver  relief).     1480. 
Gallery  of  S.  Maria  Nuova,  Madonna  and 

Child  (terra-cotta). 
S.  Lorenzo,  Sacristry,  Tomb  of  Cosimo  dei 

Medici,  1472  (bronze). 
Or   San    Michele,    Christ    and    St.    Thomas, 
finished  1483  (bronze). 
Paris.  M.  G.  Dreyfus,  Bust  of  a  Lady. 

Venice.  Piazza  di  S.  Giovenni   e  Paolo,  Equestrian 

monument    of   Bartolommeo   Colleoni,  left 
unfinished  at  death  (bronze). 


INDEX  OF  PLACES. 


Altenburg.    Lorenzo  Monaco,  Mainardi, 
Assisi.  Lower  Church  :  Giotto. 

Bergamo.      Locms  :  Albertinelli. 

MORELLI  :    Albertinelli,     Bacchiacca,     Baldovi- 
netti,    Botticelli,    Bronzino,     L.    di    Credi, 
Lorenzo  Monaco,  Pesellino,  I'ontormo. 
Berlin.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Angelico,  Bacchiacca,  Fra 

Bartolommeo,  Benozzo,  Botticelli,  Bronzino, 
Bugiardini,  L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio,  R.  del 
Garbo,    Rid.   Ghirlandaio,   Granacci,    Filip- 
pino    Lippi,    Fra    Filippo    Lippi,    Lorenzo 
Monaco,  Mainardi,  Masaccio,  Tier  di  Cosinio, 
the  Pollaiuoli,  I'ontormo,  C.  Rosselli,  Rosso, 
D.  Veneziano,  Verrocchio. 
Museum  of  Lndustrial  Art  :  Bugiardini. 
Palace  ok  Emperor  William  L:  Bugiardini. 
Raczynski  Collection:  Lorenzo  Monaco. 
Hainauer  Collection  :  Mainardi,  Pollaiuolo. 
Kaufmann  Collection  :  Lorenzo  .Monaco. 
Besan^on.     Cathedral  :  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
Bologna.        Bugiardini,  Franciabigio,  Giotto. 

S.  I)i)MHMC<)  :   Filippino,  Michelangelo. 
Borgo  San  Sepolcro.     Miniciimo  :  Pontormo. 

Okianelle:  Rosso. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A.     Mrs.  J.  L.  Gardner  :  Botticelli. 

Mr.  J.  QUINCY  Shaw  -.   Mainardi,  Pollaiuolo  (?), 
Verrocchio  (?). 
Bremen.         Kunsi  hai.i.k  :  .Masolino. 
133 


134  INDEX  OF  PLACES 

Brighton.      Mr.  Henry  Willett  :    Giotto. 

Bruges.  S.  Bavon  :  Michelangelo. 

Brunswick.  Lorenzo  Monaco  (?). 

Buda  Pesth.  Bronzino,  Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 

Carlsruhe.    L.  di  Credi. 

Castiglione  D'Olona.     Church  and  Baptistery.     Maso- 
lino. 

Chantilly.      Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Citta  di  Castello.     Rosso. 
DuoMO  :  Rosso. 

Cologne.        Benozzo,  C.  Rosselli. 

Cortona.        S.  Domenico  and  Jesij.     Fra  Angelico. 

Dijon.  Bugiardini,  Rosso. 

Dresden.        Andrea  del  Sarto,  Bacchiacca,  Botticelli,   L.  di 
Credi,  Franciabigio,  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Dulvrich.       Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Diisseldorf.  Academy  :  C.  Rosselli  (?). 

Empoli.         Opera  del  Duomo  :  Lorenzo  Monaco. 

Florence.  Academy  :  Albertinelli,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra 
Angelico,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Baldovinetti, 
Botticelli,  L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio,  R.  del 
Garbo,  Dom.  and  Rid.  Ghirlandaio,  Giotto, 
Granacci,  Lorenzo  Monaco,  Filippino  Lippi, 
Fra  Filippo,  Masaccio,  Michelangelo,  Pesel- 
lino,  Pontormo,  C.  Rosselli,  Verrocchio. 
PiTTi :  Albertinelli,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Bacchi- 
acca, Fra  Bartolommeo,  Bronzino,  Bugiar- 
dini, Franciabigio,  Rid.  Ghirlandaio,  Gra- 
nacci, Filippino  Lippi,  Fra  Filippo  Lippi, 
Pontormo,  Rosso,  Dom.  Veneziano. 
Uffizi  :  Albertiri  elli,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra 
Angelico,  Bacchiacca,  Baldovinetti,  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo, Benozzo,  Botticelli,  Bronzino, 
Bugiardini,  L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio,  Dom. 
Ghirlandaio,  Rid.  Ghirlandaio,  Granacci, 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Filippino  Lippi,  Fra 
Filippo  Lippi,  Lorenzo  Monaco,  Mainardi, 


IXDEX  OF  PLACES  1 35 

Florence  {Con.). 

Michelangelo,  Pier  di  Cosimo,  the  Pollaiuoli, 
Pontormo,  C  Kosselli,  Rosso,  Paolo  L'ccello, 
Dom.  Veneziano,  Verrocchio. 

Bargello  :  Mainardi,  Michelangelo,  Pollaiuolo, 
Rosso,  Verrocchio. 

BiGALLO  :   Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 

BoBOi.i  Gardens  :  Michelangelo. 

S.  Apollonia  :  Castagno. 

Biblioteca  Laurenziana  :  Lorenzo  Monaco. 

Casa  Buonarroti  :  Michelangelo,  Pesellino. 

Chiostro  dello  Scalzo  :  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
Franciabigio. 

Spedale  degi.i  Innocenti  :  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

MvsEO  S.  Marco:  Fra  Angelico,  Fra  Bartoloin- 
meo,  Dom.  Ghirlandaio,  Pontormo. 

Gallery  ok  S.  Maria  Nuova  :  Albertinelli, 
Fra  Bartolommeo,  C.  Rosselli,  Rosso,  Ver- 
rocchio. 

Opera  del  Duo.mo  :  Pollaiuolo,  Verrocchio. 

Palazzo  Riccardi  :  Benozzo. 

Palazzo  Vecciuo  :  Bronzino,  Dom.  Ghirlan- 
daio, Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 

S.  Salvi  :  Andrea  del  .Sarto. 

Palazzo  Alessanuki  :  Benozzo,  Filippo  Lippi. 

Bardini  Collection  :  Bacchiacca,  Bugiardini. 

Palazzo  Capponi  :  Botticelli. 

Caser.MA  di  Rr.  Carabinieri  :   Franciabigio. 

CoLLEGio    Militare:    Pontormo, 

Palazzo  Corsini  :  Albertinelli,  Bacchiacca, 
Botticelli,  Pontormo,  C.  Rosselli,  Rid,  Ghir- 
landaio, Pontormo. 

Palazzo  Pith  :  Botticelli. 

Palazzo  Picci :  L.  di  Credi,  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Palazzo  Tokrigiani  :  Castagno,  Rid.  Ghirlan- 
daio, Filippino  I.ippi,  Mainardi,   Pesellino. 
1 


136 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Florence.      S.  Ambrogio  :  C.  Rosselli. 

SS.  Annunziata  :  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Baldovin- 

etti,   PVanciabigio,   Pontormo,   C.    Rosselli, 

Rosso. 
Badia  :  Filippino  Lippi. 
Calza  :  Franciabigio. 

Carmine  :  Filippino  Lippi,  Masaccio,  Masolino. 
Certosa  :  Albertinelli,  Pontormo. 
S.  Croce  :  Giotto,   Mainardi,   Dom.  Veneziano. 
S.  DoMENico  :  Fra  Angelico,  L.  di  Credi. 
DuoMO,  Castagno,   L.  di    Credi,   Michelangelo, 

Uccello. 
S.  Felicita  :  Pontormo. 
Innocenti:  Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 
S.    Lorenzo  :    Bronzino,    Fra    Filippo    Lippi, 

Rosso,  Verrocchio. 
New  Sacristy  :  Michelangelo. 
S.  Marco  :  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
S.  Maria  degli  Angioli  :  Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 
S.  IMaria  Maddalena  dei  Pazzi  :  C.  Rosselli. 
S.  Maria  Novella  :  Bugiardini,  Dom.  Ghirlan- 
daio,  Filippino   Lippi,  Masaccio,  Orcagna, 

Uccello. 
S.  Maria  Nuova  :  Castagno. 
S.  MiNiATO  :  Baldovinetti. 
S.  NiccOLO  :  Piero  Pollaiuolo. 
Ognissanti  :  Botticelli,  Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 
Or  San  Michele  :  Orcagna,  Verrocchio. 
S.  Pancrazio  :   Baldovinetti. 
La  Quiete  :   Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 
S.  SriRlTO  :  Filippino  Lippi. 
S.  Trinita  :    Baldovinetti,   Dom.    Ghirlandaio, 

Lorenzo  Monaco. 
Forli.  L.  di  Credi  (?),  Pollaiuolo  (?). 

Frankfort.    Lorenzo  Monaco,  Pontormo,  Rosso. 
S.  Gemigniano.     S.  Agostino  :  Benozzo,  Mainardi. 


IXDEX  OF  PLACES 


137 


S.  Gemigniano.  {Con.).  S.  Andrea  :  Bcnozzo. 

DroMO  :  Benozzo,  Ghirlandaio,  Mainardi,  I'iero 
Pollaiuolo. 

S.  Lucia  :  Benozzo. 

Monte  Oi.iveto  :  Benozzo,  Mainardi. 

Via  S.Giovanni  :  Mainardi. 
Geneva.         Albertinelli. 
Genoa.  Brignole-Salk  :  Pontormo. 

S.  Teodoko  :  Filippino  Lippi. 
Hague.  Bronzino,  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Hamburg.     Consul  Weber  :  Franciabigio,  Mainardi. 
Lille.  Leonardo  (?). 

London.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Angelico,  Bacchiacca, 
Benozzo,  Botticelli,  Bronzino,  Bugiardini, 
L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio,  Dom.  Ghirlan- 
daio, Rid.  Ghirlandaio,  Filippino  Lippi, 
Fra  Filippo  Lippi,  Mainardi,  Michel- 
angelo, Pier  di  Cosimo,  Antonio  Pollai- 
uolo, Pontormo,  Uccello,  Dom.  Vcne- 
ziano  Verrocchio  (?). 

S.  Kensingto.n  Museum  :  Michelangelo. 

Burlington  House  Diploma  Gallery  :  Leon- 
ardo, Michelangelo. 

Lord  Asiiburnham  :  Granacci,  Filippino  Lippi. 

Mr.    Robert  Benson:    Franciabigio,    R.   del 
Garbo,  Dom.  Ghirlandaio,  I'ier  di  Cosimo. 

Mr.  John  Burke  :  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Mr.     Charles    Butler  :    Bacchiacca,     L.    di 
Credi,    C.    Rosselli. 

Mr.  J.  P.  IIeseltine:  Botticelli. 

Captain  HoLKORD  :  Pcsellino. 

Mr.  Ludwio  Mond  :   Fra  Bartolommeo,  Botti- 
celli. 

Lord  Nortiibrook  :  Fra  Bartolommeo. 

Mr.  Geokch  .Salting  :  Dom.  Cihirlandaio. 

Col.  Cornwallis  West  :  I'icr  di  Cosimo. 


138 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Lucca.  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Bronzino,  Pontormo. 

DUOMO  :  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Dom.  Ghirlandaio, 

C.  Rosselli, 
S.  Frediano  :   Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 
S.  MiCHELE  :  Filippino. 
Lyons.  R.  del  Garbo  (?). 

Madrid.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Angelico. 

Marseilles.    Pier  di  Cosimo. 
Mayence.     L.  di  Credi. 
Milan.  Ambrosiana  :  Botticelli. 

BOROMMEO  :  Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Poldi-Pezzoli  :    Allaertinelli,    Botticelli,    Ver- 

rocchio  (?). 
Casa  Casatti  :  L.  di  Credi. 
SiGNOR  Crespi  :  Mainardi. 
Dr.  Frizzoni  :  Bacchiacca. 
Marchese    Visconti-VenostA  :    Fra    Bartol- 
ommeo. 
S.  Maria  delle  Grazie  :  Bugiardini,  Leonardo. 
Modena.        Bugiardini. 

Montefalco.  S.  Fortunato  and  S.  Francesco  :  Benozzo. 
Montpellier.  Pesellino. 

Munich.         Albertinelli,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Angelico,  R. 
del  Garbo,  Giotto,  Granacci,    Fra   Filippo 
Lippi,   Mainardi,  Masolino,  Dom.  Venezi- 
ano. 
Lotzbeck  Collection  :   Lorenzo  Monaco. 
Miinster  (in  W.).  Kunstverein  :  Mainardi,  C.  Rosselli. 
Naples.  Fra  Bartolommeo,  L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio  (?), 

R.  del  Garbo,  Masolino. 
Narni.  Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 

New  York.  Metropolitan  Museum  :  Piero  Pollaiuolo. 

Marquand  Collection  :  Uccello  (?). 
Nimes.  Franciabigio. 

Oldenburg.    Bugiardini,  Pontormo. 
Orvieto.         Duomo  :  Fra  Angelico. 


/XD£X  OF  PLACES  1 39 

Oxford.         Christ  Chircji  :  Bacchiacca,  Granacci,  Filip- 
pino  Lippi. 
Taylorian  :     Fra    Angelico,    Bronsino,    L.   di 
Credi,  Granacci,   Filippo  Lippi,  Mainardi, 
C.  Rossclli,  Ucccllo. 
Padua.  Arena  Chapel  :  Giotto. 

Palermo.  Madonna  dell'  Olivella  :  L.  di  Credi. 
Panshanger.  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Granacci,  Pontormo. 
Paris.  Albertinelli,    Andrea  del   Sarto,    P"ra  Angelico, 

Fra     Bartolommeo,      Benozzo,      Botticelli, 
Bronzino,    Bugiardini,    L.    di  Credi,    Dom. 
Ghirlandaio,     Rid.      Ghirlandaio,     Giotto, 
Leonardo,  Filippino  Lippi,  Filippo  Lippi, 
Mainardi,  Michelangelo,   Pesellino,   Pier  di 
Cosimo,  Pontormo,  Rosso,  Uccello. 
Cluny  :  Lorenzo  Monaco. 
Mme.  Edol'ard  Andre  :  Baldovinetti. 
M.  G.  Dreyfus  :  Mainardi,  Verrocchio. 
Princesse  Sagan  :  Bronzino. 
Parma.  F'ra  Angelio^,  R.  del  Garbo. 

Perugia.         Fra  Angelico,  Benozzo. 
Plan  di  Mugnone.  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
Pisa.  Fra  Angelico,  Benozzo,  Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 

Ca-MTO  Santo  :  Benozzo. 
S.  Anna  :  Dom.  Ghirlandaio, 
S.  Caterlna  :  Albertinelli. 
DuoMO  :  Andrea  del  Sarto. 
S.  Stefano  :  Bronzino. 
Pistoia.  DroMo  :   L.  di  Credi. 

S.  I'iri  Ro  MA(;giore  :  Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 
Poggio  a  Caiano.     Andrea   del    Sarto,    Franciabigio,    Pon- 
tormo. 
Pontormo.    Church  :  Pontormo. 
Prato.  Filippino,  Lorenzo  Monaco. 

Duo.MO  :  Ridolfo  Ghirlandaio,  Fra  Filijipo  Lippi. 
Tabernacle  in  Sikket  :  Filippino  Lippi. 


140 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Reigate.       The  Priory  :  Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 

Richmond.   Sir  Francis  Cook  :  Bacchiacca,    Fra  Bartol- 

ommeo,  Fra  Filippo  Lippi. 
Rimini.  Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 

Rome.  Barberini  :  Pontormo. 

BoRGHESE  :  Albertinelli,  Bacchiacca,  Bronzino, 
Bugiardini,  L.  di  Credi,  Franciabigio,  Pier 
di  Cosimo,  Pontormo. 
CoLONNA  :  Bronzino,  Bugiardini. 
CoRSlNl :    Fra    Angelico,     Fra    Bartolommeo, 

Franciabigio. 
DORIA :  Bronzino. 

Lateran  :  Benozzo,  Fra  Filippo  Lippi. 
QuiRiNAL  :  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
Vatican  :  Fra  Angelico,  Leonardo. 

Chapel  of  Nicholas  V.  :  Fra  Angelico. 
SiXTiNE   Chapel  :    Botticelli,    Dom.  Ghir- 
landaio, Michelangelo,  C.  Rosselli. 
Cappella  Paolina  :  Michelangelo. 
Sen.  Giov.  Baracco  :  Pier  di  Cosimo. 
Palazzo  Doria  :  Fra  Filippo  Lippi,  Pesellino. 
Donna  Laura  Minghetti  :  Leonardo. 
Mr.    Ludwig   Mond  :  Fra  Filippo  Lippi,   C. 

Rosselli. 
S.  Clemente  :  Masolino. 
St.  John  Lateran  :  Giotto. 
S.    Maria  sopra  Minerva.     Filippino  Lippi, 

Michelangelo, 
St.  Peter's  :  Michelangelo,  Pollaiuolo. 
Sagrestia  DEI  Canonici  :  Giotto. 
S.  PiETRO  IN  ViNCOLi :  Michelangelo. 
Siena.  Albertinelli,  Rosso. 

Spoleto.         DuOMO  :  Fra  Filippo  Lippi. 
St.  Petersburg.     Botticelli,  Rid.  Ghirlandaio. 
Strasburg.    L.  di  Credi. 
Stuttgart.     Albertinelli. 


INDEX  OF  PL  ACES  1 4  ^ 

Turin.  Fra  Angelico,  Bronzino,  Bugiardini,  Franciabi- 

gio,  L.  di  Credi,  the  Pollaiuoli. 

Academy  :  Fra  Filippo  Lippi. 

MrsEO  Mi'MClPALE  :   Bugiardini. 
Urbino.  Uccello. 

Venice.  Academy  :  Rosso. 

Seminario  :  Albertinelli,  Baccliiacca,  Filippino 
Lippi. 

Querini-Stampalia  :   L.  di  Credi. 

Pri.nce  Giovanelli  :  Bacchiacca. 

Lady  Layard  :  R.  del  Garbo. 

Piazza  S.  Giovanni  e  Paolo  :  Verrocchio. 
Vienna.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Benozzo, 

Bronzino,  Bugiardini,  Franciabigio. 

Harrach  Collection  :    Pier  di  Cosimo. 

Lichtenstein  Gallery  :    Pier  di  Cosimo,  Ver- 
rocchio. 
Volterra.        Municipio  :   Dom.  Ghirlandaio. 

DioMO  :   Albertinelli,  Rosso. 
Wiesbaden.     Bacchiacca,  Franciabigio. 
Windsor.       Franciabigio. 


ITALIAN  PAINTERS  OF  THE  RENAIS- 
SANCE, WITH  INDICES  TO  THEIR 
WORKS. 

By  Bernhard  Berenson. 

This  series,  two  volumes  of  which  have  already  ap- 
peared, is  an  endeavour  to  interpret  each  School  of 
Painting  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  may  be  able  not 
only  to  grasp  its  historical  development,  but  also  to  en- 
joy it  aesthetically  and  with  discrimination.  To  this  end 
the  anecdotic  element,  as  well  as  mere  information,  have 
been  carefully  avoided.  The  salient  points  of  an  his- 
torical or  resthetical  nature  once  grasped,  the  reader  will 
find  no  difficulty  in  giving  the  i)roper  place  to  every  work 
by  a  great  Master,  or  seeing  the  relative  importance  of 
those  second  and  third  rate  painters  of  whom  no  special 
mention  is  made,  for  the  good  reason  that  all  that  might 
be  said  about  them  is  already  comprised  in  the  account 
of  the  greater  artists. 

All  the  necessary  and  detailed  information  is  relei^ated 
to  the  Lists,  which  form,  in  themselves,  a  directory  of 
Italian  paintings  which,  while  nut  claiming  to  be  abso- 
lutely complete,  is  more  thorough  and  more  discriminat- 
ing than  any  other  whatsoever.  As  the  author  is  him- 
self a  prominent  student  of  the  scientific  school  of  art 
criticism,  the  reader  can  rely,  as  on  no  other  popular 
compilation,  upon  the  attributions  and  other  data  here 
presented. 

In  brief,  the  series  aims  to  be  a  thorough  jiresentation 
of  the  significant  elements  of  tlie  great  Schools  of  Italy, 
and  a  detailed  Guide  t(j  Italian  paintings  everywhere. 

Each  volume  will  contain,  as  a  frontispiece,  the  repro- 
duction of  some  rare  work  peculiarly  characteristic  of 
the  School. 


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